


Trust and Control

by starhawk2005



Category: House M.D.
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Edgeplay, F/M, Graphic violence (chapter 4), Het, Hot Tub, Motorcycle Sex, Self-Bondage, Smut, Spanking, anal play (chapter 7), canes as sex toys, gynecological tools as sex toys, my kinks let me show them to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 78,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron lets House have full control over her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Yeah, I obviously don’t own them. Cuz if I did, I’d be making them do things that are too hot, even for FOX. Pity the poor smut-writer.  
> Special thanks to: My S.O. for beta’ing.  
> Author note: Since I’m conveniently ignoring the arrival of Stacy in this fic, it could be viewed as an AU…or alternatively, since I don’t recall there being any explicit explanation of exactly how much time passed between “Love Hurts” and “Three Stories”, this story could slot into canon if you squint.

It had been two months since their abortive “date”.

After House’s “diagnostic” speech, they had spent most of the rest of the evening alternating between uncomfortable silences and awkward, stilted shop-talk.

The next day, and for the rest of the next week or so, Allison had been grilled constantly by various PPTH staff members. At first, she did her best to act as though they’d had a pleasant time and all was well. Luckily, the grilling stopped at around the same time that she got tired of maintaining the charade.

For the rest of the first month after the ‘date-debacle’, as she’d come to think of it, she did her best to maintain her cool around House, but she found herself constantly on the lookout for cues from him as to whether he was going to change his mind, whether he was going to pursue anything further with her.

But he seemed to be completely disinterested, now. There wasn’t even the mild flirtation (‘What about sex?’ ‘Well, it could work. I’m older, certainly, and we work together….but maybe you _like_ that?’) that he had sometimes engaged in, before she had asked him if he liked her.

By the beginning of the second month, she’d had enough of waiting and pining. One night, she went home and regarded the dried corsage. She’d been keeping it on her coffee table. 

She’d gotten into the habit long ago of drying and saving the flowers she received on dates. She had a whole box in storage full of such mementos from various guys, from her late hubby Thomas...and so she’d saved the corsage House had gotten her,partially out of habit, but also because it had seemed to her to have some special significance. Getting her flowers had _not_ been part of the deal, yet he had done it anyways, and even been adorably nervous as he’d given it to her. And so she had wondered for awhile, even after his cruel diagnosis of her, if the flowers were a sign that a ‘soft and mushy’ House was starting to leak through the cold armoured exterior.

But since the date he’d been consistently cold and distant, dashing her remaining hopes. And it made her feel like a fool, taking that gamble, opening up so much, and now they were back to square one. Not as big a gaffe as Chase had made, ratting on House to Vogler, but still a mistake. So that night, she threw the corsage out, and came to a decision. Not a strange one, for her - she’d done something similar after Thomas had died, when she’d been in such grief that the thought of even getting close to another person had been way too painful – but she had to execute her plan carefully. Because if Chase or Foreman or even Wilson noticed, they might suspect that the date hadn’t been all roses and that she’d gotten hurt, and she didn’t need that added shame, tacked on to the shame she already felt.

Her plan was simple. Although it hadn’t started out that way - she’d merely worn makeup and flattering clothes because she’d wanted to, much like Dr. Cuddy and her low-cut blouses - being feminine had come in her mind to be associated with attracting House. Something which she supposed now had been inevitable, ever since he had told her that he had hired her partially because of her looks.

And now that he had rejected her, she no longer wanted to be feminine. Every morning when she got up and fixed her hair and makeup so carefully, when she tried to select a combination of clothing which would come across as professional yet slightly revealing at the same time, it was a reminder that she was doing this for nothing, that House didn’t want her.

So, over the course of the next month, she tried her best to slowly phase out these obsolete efforts. She cut out the mascara first, and gradually the lipstick. She kept the blush, because she was too pale without it and people started asking her if she was ill. She wore her hair pulled back tightly off of her face.

She stopped wearing skirts at all to PPTH, and instead wore pants, which got gradually baggier as time went on, as did her tops.

She did her best to make all these changes as gradually as possible. Chase seemed oblivious, which was good. She caught Wilson looking at her with a faintly puzzled expression from time to time, but he seemed unable to put his finger on what it was about her that was bothering him.

The only people to notice the change in her were Cuddy and Foreman. When they were alone (which was rare), Cuddy looked sad for Allison, but she never said anything directly. Eric had clued in by the end of the second month, but although Allison loved Eric like an older brother, she remembered his teasing (‘How’s your tummy?’) before she had tried to quit, and she didn’t want to deal with that - or his pity. So when he asked her if she was OK, she just said she was fine, and buried herself in her work until he left her alone.

In any case, House said nothing at all about her change in appearance - assuming he’d even noticed - for the entire month. And so by the start of the third month, A.D. (After Date), Allison was starting to feel a bit better, safer in her own skin.

Her position at PPTH was stable, she hadn’t made any mistakes for House to pick on, she was working well with Eric and had even managed to work out a truce of sorts with Chase. Her stomach no longer fluttered when House walked into the room or leaned over her to check something or stood beside her at the whiteboard or the xray viewer. She no longer cared – or at least, had convinced herself that she didn’t.

But predictably, just when she was starting to feel that she was centered again, House started to screw around again. He became as flirty as he’d been before the date, perhaps more so. There were the comments he’d already trotted out in the past: ‘Cameron’s prettier than you’ and ‘Cameron’s my girl’, but he was even starting to make comments about her breasts (‘funbags’, he had called them one day, and ‘melons’ a few days later) and ass (which was even stranger given the current way she was dressing). And that was pushing it, even for him.

She was starting to _hate_ going to work in the morning, as had happened during the reign of Vogler, and decided to try to deal with the problem head-on. Not that such an approach had worked so well on the date, but like she’d said to House before quitting, she had two ways of dealing with things. One was in her control, and one was to leave the control to others. And leaving House free to flirt and sexually harass her in his own particular way was starting to grate.

House was sitting in his office, wasting time surfing the Net, when she poked her head in and asked to speak with him. He got that look on his face like he knew a major fight was coming, and popped a Vicodin.

Allison walked in, and decided to come straight to the point. “You’re messing with me. Why?”

House didn’t answer her question directly – as usual. “You’ve been letting yourself go, Dr. Cameron. Considering I hired you to serve as an art piece in my office, you’re not doing your job. I may have to reconsider hiring you back.”

He was trying to get her angry, she _knew_ that. Didn’t make it any easier to try to withhold her temper, but she _knew_ what he was up to. They’d done this ‘dance’ before.

“How much care I take on my appearance is no business of yours.” she replied. Calmly. Reasonably.

“It’s my business if it’s a _symptom_ of something that will affect your work.” he said.

“It’s _not_.” she said, holding onto her anger with both hands. How _dare_ he act as though she was letting her feelings get in the way of her job? She’d performed just as well after their ‘date’ as before it. She certainly hadn’t angio’d the wrong leg on any patients…..

House was looking slyly at her. “Denial is _my_ trick, Dr. Cameron. Pick a different one for yourself.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Just stood there and looked at him, wondering how she could ever have thought that having it out with him had been a good idea. He’d just steamroller her and her emotions like he’d done before…

Finally, he seemed to get impatient with her silence. “Maybe, it’s that I don’t want my employees to be lying to themselves…sets a dangerous precedent. Short hop from lying to themselves to lying to me….It’s one thing if my patients lie to me. If my employees lie to me….” He let his voice trail off. And he still had that sly look, like this was some kind of game.

“I’m not lying to myself.” she bit out. _She_ was the one trying to come to grips with the emotional crap that had happened between them, and trying to do a good job at PPTH, and _he_ was the one working to destabilize that, she reminded herself.

“Bullshit, Dr. Cameron.” Suddenly, all hints of amusement were gone from his face. “You still mistakenly think you love me, and you’re in mourning because of it….that’s what all _this_ -” he indicated her state of dress with a sweep of his cane – “is about.”

_So what?_ she thought to herself. _It’s_ my _problem_. “Doesn’t matter.” _Butt out, asshole._

“It _does_.” he said, sounding sincere for the first time since she’d walked into his office. “You have to move on, Cameron, and stop moping over-”

She could feel tears burning like acid behind her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them fall. That was the only saving grace throughout this whole debacle…she’d done a lot of stupid things, shown way too much of her emotions, but she hadn’t yet broken down and bawled….and she wasn’t going to start now. “I’ll mope if I want to….” She started to add that it was none of his affair, but instead, what came out of her mouth was: “You didn’t give me a chance, you didn’t give _us_ a chance.” And then she stopped herself, inwardly horrified at the realization that he _was_ , in fact, correct. All that emotional shit that she thought that she had dealt with, had put to bed, was all still there, just under the surface of the defenses she’d been trying to construct ever since the night of the date….Was this what it was like to be House, except that his defenses were better constructed than hers?

House sighed and rubbed his hand over his stubble. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. Almost defeated, she realized. “Allison. You can’t give me what I need. It would never work.”

Something had changed, she realized. A chink in those defenses. She had to capitalize on it, _now_ , before he shored them up again….”There’s that _denial_.” She said, locking gazes with him defiantly.

He said nothing in return, just sat and met her stare for stare.

Still defiant, she continued, “You _want_ me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t _give_ a fuck-”

He cut her off, his voice rising. “You don’t know _what_ I want.”

She put her hands on her hips, still staring him down. “Try me.” she challenged.

There was a long pause…and then, he got this look on his face that Allison could only describe as….predatory. “What if I wanted you naked….and _totally_ helpless? Completely in my power, under my control? Would you give up that much to me, Allison? You ‘love’ me that much?”

He was serious. And she realized that it fit completely with his personality. He was always trying to control everything – control the pain with Vicodin, control other people with his cutting remarks, control people by getting ‘the dirt’ on them whenever he could, control the diseases the patients presented with….it made perfect sense that he’d want control in the bedroom, too, where he’d be arguably most vulnerable.

And what he didn’t know was that she had experience with this kind of thing. Not a whole helluva lot of experience – Thomas hadn’t been into that, even before he got sick – but a few guys she’d been involved with had been, and it had been… _interesting_. Different. So she wasn’t about to get scared off, even if that _was_ House’s intention.

“You may think me a total innocent – what did you call me? ‘A stuffed animal made by grandma’? – but I know a thing or two about that kind of play.”

“I see…” he paused. “And if I wanted to tie you up? To be rough with you?” Boy, he was really trying hard to scare her.

Apprehension was indeed starting to coil inside her, but she made herself continue. “As long as you don’t _hurt_ me, I’m fine with anything you dish out.”

He shook his head as if dazed, as if he thought he was dreaming and expected to wake up any minute. But his voice was steady as he answered her. “No, I’m not into pain….I know it too well.”

“Then I agree to your terms.” she said…and waited.

She thought for a moment he was going to bail, but then he glanced at the clock. 6:15p.m. Past the time to go home. He got up slowly and awkwardly from his chair, and limped towards her. She found herself suddenly unable to meet his eyes, a mix of excitement and nervousness joining her apprehension. It was one thing to agree to submit to someone, it was another thing entirely to actually _do_ it. But she wasn’t going to back down. She wanted him, and if this was the way to get him…she’d do it.

“Put out your hand,” he told her, and once she had done so, he put a set of keys into it. “You know where my place is.” His voice was low, deep, commanding, and Allison had to suppress a sudden shudder of desire. “Go there, let yourself in. I’ll be there shortly. If I find you kneeling on the floor in my bedroom when I get there, I’ll take it as a sign that you definitely want this. If you’re not there, I’ll know you’ve changed your mind, and we won’t speak of this ever again. Clear?”

Not trusting her voice, she gave a short sharp nod. She glanced up quickly at him, but was unable to handle the intensity of his gaze for very long. “Good girl. Now _go_.”

Wow, this was exciting… _and_ scary. She’d let herself into House’s place, and then gone immediately to his bedroom, resisting the urge to poke around and see what she could find out about him. She had no idea how long he’d make her wait, and she didn’t want to get caught in a position that he could interpret as a refusal.

So after entering his bedroom, she kneeled down at the foot of his bed – which was _huge,_ and a four-poster, no less – and waited.

About 10 minutes passed. At first, she contented herself with examining everything she could see from her position on the floor. The closet with its rumpled clothes and carelessly piled sneakers. The pictures on the walls – sepia photos of nature scenes. The striped pattern on the comforter. The scattered books on the dresser and end tables. The mostly clean ashtray on one of the night-tables. She breathed in, smelling his scent in the air.

Another 10 minutes passed, and nervousness was beginning to overtake all other emotions. What if he never came? What if this was all another cruel trick? Her knees were _aching_ by now – the floors were hardwood, after all – and she tried not to panic.

Finally, though, she thought she heard the thump of his cane on the porch outside, and she barely had time to wonder how _he_ was going to get in, considering she had his keys, when she heard keys rattling in the lock – _must have a spare set_ , she thought – and the door opening.

A moment later she heard the door being shut, and then there was the familiar rhythm of his thump-pause-step gait, getting closer. And she simultaneously felt relieved and _more_ nervous. Relieved, because he was here, but nervous, because what would he do to her? What would he make her do?

He entered the bedroom and paused, and she glanced up at him quickly, before lowering her eyes again. Still unable to meet his eyes for very long.

“You know what a safeword is?” he asked her. His voice still low, husky.

“Yes.” she said. It was strangely hard to get the word out of her throat, the warring emotions inside her wreaking havoc with her most basic functions.

“Good. We’ll use ‘pineapple’ today. You say ‘pineapple’, and I’ll know it’s too much for you and I’ll stop.”

She nodded her head, no longer trusting her voice. He came towards her, and then startled her by leaning down, grabbing her chin, and making her look up at him. “But,” he said, clearly not finished. “you’re only to use the safeword if things are really getting too scary for you. You use it to try and fuck with me, to _test_ me, and you can forget the whole thing. Understand?”

“Yes.” Her voice shaky.

“Good.” He released her, and moved back to the doorway, leaning against the wall. “Now get up.”

She did, wincing as her knees protested. She resisted the urge to massage the aches out of them. She snuck another quick glance at him, but couldn’t read anything from his face. He might have been reading a medical journal, for all the emotion he was showing.

“Strip.” he said. Again, no emotion, like it was _nothing_.

She hesitated. Not that she didn’t want this, want _him_ , but again, it was one thing to fantasize, and another to actually do it.

He noted her hesitation, and his voice hardened. “Strip…or leave. Your choice, Allison.”

She kept her eyes on the floor, and started removing her clothes, trying to remember how to breathe. First her flats, then the loose shirt, then her baggy pants, and her trouser socks. She left them in a pile on the floor. Then, taking a deep breath, she removed her bra and panties, finally standing there naked and exposed and nervous – and aroused beyond belief – in front of House.

“Push your clothes out of the way.” He pointed to a spot near him with his cane, and she obeyed him. “Now stand in the middle of the floor.” She did that, too.

She kept her eyes on the floor as he limped towards her. Feeling her face heat as he slowly limped around her, taking everything in, _inspecting_ her. She could feel his eyes on her naked flesh like burning coals, and tried not to shudder. Tried not to notice the growing wetness between her legs. She hoped he liked what he saw, but of course she wasn’t going to _ask_ him.

Finally, he seemed to have had his fill of examining her.

“Don’t move.” he ordered her, before walking behind her and in the direction of one of the night-tables she’d noticed earlier. She heard him open a drawer and rummage around.

A moment later he was directly behind her, and she sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as he wound something soft and opaque around her eyes. He knotted it firmly at the back of her skull, rendering her completely blind. Which was both comforting - now she didn’t have to watch him watching her - and nerve-wracking.

He ordered her back to her knees, and she obeyed, her knees protesting a little at the hard floor underneath them again so soon, feeling a little clumsy without her sight to guide her descent. If he’d wanted her helpless, he was certainly making good on it.

She heard him move in front of her, and there was a pause. Allison tried to relax, tried to control her nervousness. House reached out and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her up on her knees and then pulling her forward and against him, until her cheek was pressed against the hard warm bulge in his jeans.

Although she was enjoying the feel of him through the cloth, his size shocked her. And she felt her apprehension rising even more. He had said he wanted to be rough with her. Was he going to force her to take him down her throat? He had promised he wouldn’t hurt her, but...

His hand was still wrapped around the back of her neck, but then he released his grip, moving both hands to her hair. He began to take her hair out of the tight bun she had been wearing it in all day. He loosened the bobby pins and elastic, pausing to massage her scalp gently, and then he started to comb his fingers through the freed strands.

She’d been a little hesitant when it came to letting her boyfriends toy with her hair, ever since one of them had gotten in the habit of roughly raking his hands through it, yanking his fingers right through the tangles and hurting her. But House was being too careful, gently running his fingers through the strands and patiently loosening the tangles as he encountered them. Until finally he had arranged her hair to his satisfaction.

There was another pause. Now, he’s going to make me unzip him, she thought. But instead, he told her to stand up.

She got back up, one of his hands under her elbow and assisting her, this time. He didn’t release her, but guided her backwards, until she felt his bed against the backs of her knees. He pushed her down onto the bed, and ordered her to move backwards, telling her when to stop.

And so she wound up lying on House’s bed on her back, naked, blindfolded, wondering what he was going to do next. She could hear him moving around, more drawers being opened, but she had no clue what he was doing. She was covered in gooseflesh, her nipples already stiff even though he hadn’t even touched them, could feel the air cool on the moisture between her legs, feel the softness of the comforter underneath her…

He was coming back to the bed, and then she felt his warm fingers take hold of her left ankle. He began wrapping something around it, and she realized he was tying her to the bed. She tried again to relax, to surrender….it was _safe_ , here in his power, she told herself. He wasn’t going to hurt her. And yet, she remembered what he had said many months ago, though not in this context: “You always trust me. That’s a big mistake.”

He’d secured one ankle, and was starting on the other, and despite her resolve, she could feel herself starting to tremble. Although how much was fear/nervousness, how much anticipation, and how much simply due to the coolness of the room, she couldn’t have said.

Done with her feet, she heard him limping towards her right side, and she felt him lift her slightly so he could slide a small pillow under her hips. His strong hand took hold of her wrist and began according it the same treatment as her ankles. He tied it firmly, so that most of her limbs were now stretched out and pinned to the bed, and she could barely move.

He unhurriedly went back around to the other side of the bed, completing her bondage by securing her free hand, and then it was done – she was completely helpless. She could barely move. She certainly couldn’t escape.

“OK?” his voice came from somewhere above her, softer than she ever would have expected to hear from him.

She tried to answer him, but her voice failed her.

He touched her face, cupping her cheek. “You have to answer me, Allison. You have to let me know you’re OK.”

_He_ does _care_. And she finally managed to reply. “I’m OK.”

“Good. We’ll proceed, then.”

But instead of touching her, he went still. And then it was like he had disappeared, even though he was still standing beside her. Silence filled the room – she couldn’t even hear him breathing - and she tensed a little, waiting to see what he would do, where he would touch her.

She jumped about six feet – or would have, if she hadn’t been tied down – when his fingers began to trace along her collarbone. With her sight taken from her, all her other senses seemed heightened, her skin especially responding more powerfully than usual to being caressed. She felt the bed shift as he sat down next to her, and then felt his other hand warm on her side for a moment, before his fingertips moved to follow along the lines of her ribs, his calluses rasping against her skin. It was both arousing and tickling at the same time, and she squirmed helplessly against her bonds, hearing him chuckle.

One hand moved up, fingers stroking her throat, and the other down, sliding along her flat – and taut, haha – belly. The hand on her stomach _just_ brushing her skin – his hand wasn’t actually touching her skin, but she could feel the soft downy hairs on the surface bending as he stroked his hand along them, and she moaned, trying to arch her back and press herself more firmly against his teasing fingers – but of course prevented by the bindings.

He suddenly pulled both hands from her and then grabbed her breasts, thumbs rubbing against her erect nipples, and then he began to squeeze and tug and tweak, making her squirm even more, moan even louder. His breath warm on her ear, his clean manly scent getting stronger as he leaned in. “You like that, don’t you, Allison?”

Her mouth was dry, and she had to swallow a couple times. “Yes.”

“Say my name, Allison. I want to hear you say it.”

Which name, she wondered? House? Greg? She called him ‘House’ every day, so… “Yes…Greg.”

“Niiiice. You’ll be screaming it later, but that’ll do for now.” That predatory look was back on his face, she was sure – she could hear it in his voice. And it made her feel both more nervous and more aroused, as had been the case all along.

His mouth suddenly fastened on her nipple, sucking and nipping, his other hand continuing to pinch her free nipple roughly, and Allison groaned, feeling sweat break out all over her body.

He switched his mouth to her other breast, this time drawing wet circles around her areola with his tongue, then softly biting the white flesh, finally rubbing his stubbled cheek roughly against tender skin…she couldn’t keep her head from thrashing from side-to-side, couldn’t keep the begging note out of her voice as she said his name again….

He chuckled once more. “That’s my name, all right….Excuse me while I go check out some prime real estate.” He pulled back from her completely, and then got slowly up from the bed.

A few moments later the bed dipped again as he settled himself at the foot, this time sliding himself up, until she felt his hard, sinewy shoulder against her right thigh. And his cane – cool, hard, unyielding – resting against her other leg.

“Are you wet for me, Allison? Let’s find out, shall we?” His hands on her, pulling her apart. She gasped, feeling very exposed…and liking it.

“So beautiful,” he said, that odd strange softness back in his voice. His fingers on her, first toying with the curls of her pubic hair, tugging gently, then smoothing them back. And then tracing along the edges of her outer lips, teasing her. Moving inward to run slow tortuous lines up and down along her inner lips, pressing a fingertip barely inside her to sample the tender flesh just inside her entrance.

She was moaning, pulling on her bonds, trying instinctively to thrust her hips against him. Trying to push her burning clit against any part of him that she could. “Please, Greg, don’t tease me…”

“You have no say in the matter, little girl. If I want to tease you like this all night, you can’t do anything about it.” And continuing to avoid her swollen clit with his strokes….coming nearer and nearer, but then veering away to caress a less sensitive area.

She didn’t know how long he tormented her that way, she only knew that it went on for awhile, and her whole body felt hot, sweaty, shaky with her _need_ ….she was sure the comforter beneath her was soaked with her juices and her sweat.

And just when she thought she would break down and beg him unashamedly, she felt his grip on her shift, his fingers easing her swollen clit completely free of its hood so he could suck it deep into his mouth, and she nearly _did_ scream in reaction.

He shoved something – it felt like a couple fingers – deeply inside her, all the while continuing to suck ruthlessly on her hyper-sensitive flesh. She was gasping, moaning, begging him….it was so intense, she could no longer tell if what she was feeling was pleasure or pain or both…but it _was_ like nothing she’d ever experienced before. And he wasn’t stopping.

It was too much. She was being totally overwhelmed by what he was doing to her…something had to give….and then she shrieked and came harder than she ever had in her life….

When she finally came back to herself, House still had his fingers inside her, gently rotating against her quivering walls, but he was no longer torturing her clit. Instead, she could feel his lips, tongue, and stubble on her thighs. He licked at her skin, tasting her sweat, pressing kisses and love-bites along the insides of her pinned legs. Occasionally letting his mouth wander between her legs to taste the juices still seeping out of her.

She had almost completely recovered from her orgasm…when he started again. She felt herself stretching around him as he added two more fingers to the ones already inside her, and then she felt him pick up the cane from where it had lain against her leg – the wood now warm from her skin – and an instant later felt something hard and unyielding moving in firm circles against her clit.

It had to be the handle of his cane, she realized. And then all rational thought was lost, and she could only moan and squirm all over again, pleading with him….though whether she was begging him to stop or continue, even she wasn’t sure…

>It felt like he had his whole hand inside her – and maybe he did – and her clit felt like it was on fire, the feeling of the hard cane handle relentlessly pushing her closer to another orgasm with every rub against her knob….this time she _did_ scream his name, as she descended into her second orgasm of the night….

This time, as she came back down to earth, he withdrew from both her and the bed, and she could hear the rustle of clothing as he stripped himself down. There was a pause, during which she was not sure what he was doing, but then she heard him moving towards the head of the bed. Was he going to untie her for their final act?

But instead he slid his erection into her bound hand, and she realized he’d put on a condom at some point….God, he _was_ huge…even with the way he had stretched her earlier, she was a little apprehensive about how he’d be able to fit inside her….she stroked her fingers along his length a few times, wanting to give him back at least some measure of the delight he’d already given her…

“Just wanted you to know that ‘protection’ was going to be involved. So, have no worries on that score.” he said quietly above her. And then pulled himself out of her hand and walked back to the foot of the bed.

When he was finished positioning himself, he was on top of her, partially leaning on her with most of his weight on the bed, and she could tell most of his weight was on his uninjured side. She felt his cock against the entrance to her body, and again felt the urge to arch her back, to press against him, but there was nothing she could do.

He pressed himself carefully inside her, slow centimeter by centimeter. It was a little uncomfortable at times, but Allison wouldn’t have traded that feeling for anything. And finally it seemed he could go no further, and he stopped, letting her get used to the feeling of him inside her. Eventually, he started moving slowly inside her, each stroke long and gentle, his hand seeking her clit and caressing it again, making her inner muscles clutch at him in reaction.

But then he pulled his hand from between her legs – presumably for more leverage – and began thrusting harder and faster inside her, his own breaths coming in gasps now, his hands – well, she supposed it had to be his hands – making deep indents in the bed on either side of Allison’s torso as he tried to hold himself up above her….

He was getting harder and harder inside her, thrusting more roughly against her, and although she would never have thought that she could climax three times in one night....it was happening again.

House suddenly stopped moving, and he groaned out her name himself as he gave in to his own release, Allison joining him a few moments later...

He was lying on his side, against her, their bodies pasted together with sweat. She felt him slide a lazy hand up along her body, and then he was pushing the blindfold off her face.

She blinked a few times, eyes unused to even the dim lighting in the bedroom, and then looked up to meet House’s cobalt gaze.

He was smiling at her, _really_ smiling at her, something she had never seen before - had never _expected_ to see, really, even when she had been actively pursuing him. And then he leaned in and kissed her, their mouths meeting at last.

He hitched himself back to the foot of the bed, and then got slowly up, starting to release her bonds. First her ankles, massaging her legs as she winced, the muscles stiff from lack of movement.

Then her arms, which he also treated to a massage. Allison had never felt so sated or so sleepy, and once Greg’s wonderful hands had taken most of the stiffness out of her limbs, she found that she could barely keep her eyes open.

But she wasn’t sure if he wanted her to stay the night, even after what they had shared, so she forced herself to open her eyes and meet his gaze again. “Is it OK if I...did you want me to...?” She found herself unable to complete the sentence.

“Yes, stay here with me....Be right back.” He went into the bathroom, and Allison turned over onto her stomach and snuggled under the covers.

Greg came back a few minutes later, turning off the lights and sliding under the sheets next to - but a little apart from - her. Taking her hand as she turned to face him. “I’d get closer to you, but I don’t want my leg to accidentally get whacked in our sleep.” There was that uncharacteristically quiet voice again.

“I understand.” she said. She did. But she had one more thing to say, and she struggled to stay awake long enough to say it. “Thank you, Greg. And I _do_ love you.” And then she laid her fingertips on his lips, forestalling any reply he might have made. “And I don’t need to hear you say it in return. You _showed_ me, tonight, and that’s enough for me.”

But she did slip her hand under the covers to gently caress his bad thigh, feeling the scars and the deep depression in the flesh where muscle tissue was now absent. “And I don’t love you for _this_. I love _you_.”

She pulled her hand back. And, unable to resist a last parting shot, she muttered sleepily, “And if you ever _dare_ to suggest otherwise again, _you’re_ gonna be the one tied to the bed and tormented, Gregory.”

She was sinking into sleep so fast, she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming his reply, but it seemed to her that he said, “Promises, promises, Alli.”

But it didn’t really matter what words he used. All she needed was his quiet voice in her ear, to send her down into sweet dreams…


	2. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cameron decides ‘gentlemen prefer dommes’….even if they don’t want to admit it at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own them. I do own rope, but that’s neither here nor there.  
> Special thanks to: My S.O. for his usual support, and to katakombs for many fruitful discussions on Cam and House and their possible motivations, which has undeniably affected how I write them.  
> Author note: Since I’m conveniently ignoring the Arrival of Stacy in this fic, and the events in this series don’t quite fit with Cam’s ‘You couldn’t love me’ speech in the ‘Honeymoon’ ep, I think I’m going to go back on my original claim that this could fit into canon, and just say to consider this AU.

The morning after House had tied her up and given her the sex of her life, she woke up to find him making breakfast.

She put on her clothes from the day before, and sauntered into the kitchen to join him. They sat across from each other at the table, eating and reading snippets of the paper to each other. _Well, this is all very domestic…and_ weird. _But in a_ good _way_ , Allison thought. Not how she might have expected a ‘morning-after’ with Greg House to go…

It was more in keeping with what she might have expected when House closed the paper in a business-like manner, and then fixed those gorgeous cerulean eyes of his on her.

“It probably goes without saying that I want to see you again…but then again, I’m not exactly a traditional guy, and we didn’t exactly start this relationship in a traditional fashion, so some clarification seems in order.”

“Certainly can’t hurt.” Allison replied, smiling at him.

He put on his thoughtful face for a moment. “Come to think of it, you’re not exactly a traditional girl – there aren’t too many women out there who would demand that their boss _date_ them, in order for them to come back to work.” A small, teasing grin on his face.

“Don’t remind me,” she said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Not wanting the reminder of the unpleasantness she’d had to go through, to get to this point.

House surprised her by reaching across the table and touching her hand. “Sorry,” he said, his voice a little softer, reminding her of how he had spoken to her when he’d had her helpless last night. “That night, our ‘date’, when I said those things to you….I was projecting.” And then he got that teasing look on his face again. “They _do_ teach the concept of projection in first-year psych these days, don’t they?”

Allison shook her head, smiling. She was sure her first-year psych prof would have a lot to say about a man who could only be consistently soft and caring – and snark-free – while he had his girlfriends tied up and defenseless – but she didn’t say that to Greg. Just an amused “Yes,” in response to his question.

They sat there for a moment, both looking at their hands on the table, his larger one covering hers.

“This time, however,” Greg began, and although his voice was light again, she could hear a note of tension in it. “I’d suggest no bragging to Foreman or Chase.”

It was amazing how quickly her emotions could change in his presence, from happy and relaxed to ashamed. She remembered how she had smugly told Chase and Foreman that she’d gotten House to take her on a date as a condition of her return. She still didn’t know, even now, why she had done that. Overconfidence?

Well, she wasn’t going to do _that_ again, that’s for sure. They had almost keeled over in shock at the thought that she might actually date House….they’d probably have a heart-attack and die right on the spot if they found out what she and Greg had done last night. “I’m sorry,” she said to Greg. “I shouldn’t have said anything to them before our date, I don’t even know why-”

He held his hand up, stopping her. “Don’t apologize, just _learn_ from it. That’s all I ask.”

>He picked up the paper again. And she thought their discussion was over.

But then he asked, in that quiet soft voice again (his gaze locked on his paper, however, as if the question was of no consequence), “Are you OK with what we did last night?”

Allison wasn’t fooled, though. He might not be making eye contact, but the tone of his voice, just like before, gave away the depth of what he was feeling. “ _More_ than OK,” she said. “I hope we get to do it again sometime.”

He glanced over his paper at her, that predatory look briefly crossing his face again. “Count on it, Dr. Cameron.”

 

Sunday night, two nights after their little tie-up session. Alli was feeling _very_ glad that it had taken place on a Friday night, because she had been unable to concentrate on anything else for the entire weekend. Even though they hadn’t seen each other since Saturday morning.

She kept remembering how it had felt to be bound and blind and helpless. Remembered how he had teased her mercilessly one minute, and been gentle the next. Remembered how soft his voice had gotten when he’d been checking if she was OK. Thank God she’d had the weekend to process this stuff and get it out of her system. _If we’d done that on a weeknight,_ she thought, with an internal grin, _I would’ve been completely useless to the team for the rest of the week._

She was having enough trouble now, though, trying to focus on the problem of work. Obviously, she wanted to act in front of the PPTH community as if nothing at all had happened between her and House. But she also didn’t feel much need to be dressing in formless clothes and forgoing her make-up any longer. So she decided to phase that stuff back in, starting with dropping the schoolmarm-ish hairstyles and wearing tighter tops, first, and then slowly work the makeup and more stylish clothes back in again. Hopefully everyone (except Cuddy and Foreman, of course) would remain as clueless as they had when she’d started letting herself go. And if Eric or Dr. Cuddy asked, she’d just say that she’d decided to ‘move on’. Neither of them needed to know about her and House, at least until her fellowship was up (assuming she and Greg were even still involved by then).

She was rummaging through her closet, trying to select a top that was a _bit_ on the form-fitting side, but not _too_ sexy, when she suddenly remembered something that had almost completely slipped her mind.

 _“And if you ever dare to suggest otherwise again,_ you’re _gonna be the one tied to the bed and tormented, Gregory.”_

_“Promises, promises, Alli.”_

_That’s right, I threatened to tie_ him _up. Hmmm._ No wonder she had almost completely forgotten that, she’d been nearly asleep during that exchange.

And now she found herself wondering if he _would_ submit to her. He hadn’t exactly freaked out when she’d said that, but he also hadn’t said anything at breakfast the morning after, to show that he was interested.

 _He’s always working so hard to control everything. That’s got to be a major drain on his energies,_ Alli thought. How…relaxing…would it be for him to be helpless, for him to have to lie back and allow her to do the work? She had certainly enjoyed giving up control to him, would he enjoy giving it up to her?

The thought intrigued her. She spent the rest of Sunday evening thinking about it, this new idea supplanting even the memories of Friday night that had previously occupied her.

 

Monday. Work at PPTH was pretty much the same as always. House noticed Allison’s loose hair, and the tighter-fitting clothes, and was pleased. He’d never let on to her just how much it had bothered him, watching her decline like that. Not because his ‘art piece’ was losing its appeal – that had been a lie – but because if he’d been the one to extinguish her light…he couldn’t have lived with himself if he’d done that. And he was already barely able to live with himself.

He also noticed that she was keeping their activities to herself, this time, which was good. He didn’t need Wilson finding out about this particular side of his personality. James knew a lot about him, but some things ought to only be between oneself and one’s lovers.

But it did add a little spice, when their eyes met across the room and he saw the sly little look in her eyes. He sometimes wished now that he _did_ wear a lab coat, to ensure no one would notice the erections that ‘arose’ (pun intended) when he started to replay in his mind what they’d done that first night, or to idly plan what he might do to her next. They hadn’t set a second date, yet (if one could even count their first tie-up foray as a date…and he was _not_ counting that misguided dinner at Café Spilletto as a ‘date’), but he’d be asking her soon. He wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him by.

What worried him - as much as he _could_ get worried, anyway - was the thought that he had gotten their relationship (if one could call it that) off on the wrong foot. It wasn’t that he was only into kinky sex and didn’t enjoy ‘vanilla’ acts. Far from it. 

In fact, it had been Stacy who had really gotten his kinky side into full swing. He’d always been the aggressor in the bedroom, that was true. But she had a high-powered, stressful job as a lawyer for PPTH at that time, and once she had discovered how much she enjoyed giving complete control over to House, they had started to engage in those sorts of activities more and more. She’d told him that it was a very great relief, being able to lie back and hand over responsibility to another person, to just _enjoy_ and not have to worry about the progress of events, to relax and be completely vulnerable. He could appreciate that, even if he couldn’t see himself enjoying such a situation personally. But the fact that she had allowed him to control her, given that he already preferred to control every aspect of his life as much as humanly possible, this had only fed into his own needs, and so he had enjoyed dominating her as much as she had enjoyed being dominated by him. They had been two sides of the same coin in that way.

But then, there had been the infarction. He’d been furious at Stacy for her role ( _betrayal_ ) in the whole thing. And even though they had stayed together for about 6 months after his surgery, their sex life had completely stalled. For one thing, he wasn’t foolish enough to think that ‘playing’ in anger was a good idea. The anger he held smouldering under the surface might cause him to be rougher with her than he should be, and he didn’t want to hurt her....or at least, not hurt her in _that_ way. And Stacy was smart enough to know better than to put herself at the mercy of someone who resented her.

Add to that, the fact that the whole business with the surgery he hadn’t wanted had felt very much as though she had dominated _him_ , taken control of _him_ …and he’d been hurt by the experience. So all dominating/submitting play between them had effectively died with his surgery.

In addition, particularly in those early days, the pain and the lack of mobility had been significant. He couldn’t even get it up for 3 months after the surgery, the pain proving to be too much of a distraction. Not to mention the exhaustion associated

with trying to learn to walk using parts of his body that had never been designed to work in that manner. Like his right shoulder, and his back. He couldn’t even walk around the _bed_ properly, in the early days, so how could he even begin to tie someone up and dom them effectively? 

Taken together, all those things had made him feel like something less than a man. _Much_ less of a man. So when he’d finally pushed Stacy hard enough that

she’d given up and left, there’d been a kind of relief in that. He didn’t, in a sense, have to be male. Didn’t have to be sexual. He could just be Gregory House, doctor and cripple and misanthrope. He didn’t have to be _Greg_ , lover and boyfriend. Or even a _friend,_ really. He’d gradually lost all their mutual friends, until only James was left.

But things were different now. There was Allison. It was all still _very_ strange to him - he’d been only Gregory House, doctor and cripple and misanthrope, and yet she’d still fallen for him, instead of being driven away like everyone else. Even when he’d done his damndest to _try_ and drive her away (“You don’t love, you need.”). She still loved him, wanted him to be himself (doctor and cripple and misanthrope), and was willing to give up control to him, even in his crippled state. She _trusted_ him.

The fact still remained, he didn’t want her to think he was only interested in her for the kinky sex. What might she think of him, of their relationship, given they’d skipped all the usual niceties of real first date (and even first, second, _and_ third base), and gone straight to the decadent ‘dessert’?…He wanted to do right by her, as much as he was capable of such...as she had herself noted, he did things because they were right. Although most people would probably think his definition of ‘right’ was pretty skewed.

But he had started making plans, to show her that it wasn’t only going to be ropes and blindfolds and power exchanges. Not that he had _any_ intention of going back to dates in stuffy formal restaurants, even for her sake – that just wasn’t _him_. But another monster truck rally, or a lacrosse game, or a jazz club, or piano bar, or arthouse movie, or Shakespearean play....and _then_ the ropes and silk scarves and feathers and ice cubes and chocolate sauce could make their appearance. _Not_ all _at the same time, though, Greg,_ he reminded himself. _Don’t want to blow out her cortex all in one go…._

Anyway, enough of this. He could see the Ducklings, including his Secret Sex-Slave Duckling Extraordinaire, coming towards his office. It was time to get cracking on their latest case.

Allison walked into House’s office. It was now the end of the day, and Chase and Eric had already left, so she was reasonably sure that she could discuss her idea with Greg without being disturbed.

House watched Cameron come into his office. She sat down in his comfortable chair, but she seemed a little nervous to him. _Something’s going on_ , he thought.

“What’s up, Doc?” he deadpanned in a perfect Bugs Bunny imitation.

“Well, Greg, I _really_ enjoyed what we did the other night. And don’t get me wrong, I’d love to do it again.” _OK, here’s the hard part._ She didn’t want to scare him off of the idea. “But I don’t want to be the only one who gets to sit back and be taken care of.” _Good, that sounded non-threatening._ “It sounded to me before we fell asleep the other night, like you might have some interest in getting tied up and teased, yourself.” And she gave him her most disarming smile.

House just stared at her blankly for a second, like she’d sprouted an extra arm, or started speaking in tongues.

He tried to gather his thoughts. His heart rate had sped up, but he wasn’t sure why. Was he actually _excited_ at the prospect of letting the tables be turned on him? Or _scared_ as hell? Stacy had never had the _slightest_ interest in dominating him, so this was something he’d never experienced before….unless you counted the way she’d forced that surgery on him…

 _Better to be safe than sorry,_ he decided. He wasn’t exactly made out of fine china, but there was no need to put himself in a position where his leg could get jarred, or his

already overstrained shoulders and back could get more aggravated. He tried to deflect her as nicely as possible. “I thought you had only a _little_ experience with this kind of thing.”

 _Oh crap -_ she hadn’t thought of that, she realized. It was true, her limited experience so far had all been as the ‘sub’ But then again, she knew, in the submissive role, what she liked, so shouldn’t it be easy to transfer that into what she could do to _him_?

“Well, that’s true, but....I figure it should be easy enough to switch roles.”

“It is highly _irresponsible_ to think that just because you’ve been on the receiving end a few times, that you now know everything you need to know to be a good dominant.” He heard the coldness in his own voice, surprising even himself. _This is_ Allison _, she_ loves _you, why are you being such an asshole? Are you really_ that _much of a chickenshit?_

Allison could hear the fear underneath his words, which immediately dissolved any anger she felt at his dismissal of her efforts. “You’re always so in control,” she finally said. Quietly, calmly, even a little sadly - sad, for him, that he couldn’t let go, could never _ever_ relax. “Wanting to control your pain, your employees, your colleagues, the cases you’re presented with. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to let it all go, to give up control and be taken care of, for a change.” She got up to leave, disappointed that all the plans and ideas she’d had were now going to come to naught. She’d get over it, of course, but she was allowed to be a little disappointed, for the moment.

House saw that she was upset, and decided that he couldn’t let her leave, not like this. “Wait.” Maybe there was a way to make her understand the complexity of what she wanted to get into. He’d been a relative neophyte when he and Stacy had started to ‘play’ in this manner. He’d had to educate himself, too, and pretty quickly. He decided for the moment to put a tool or two into her hands, and see what transpired. It would buy him some time, at the very least. _Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll get totally squicked out and I won’t have to deal with it at all…Or maybe it_ could _be fun._ He’d reserve judgment for now, he decided. “Here.” 

Allison watched bemused as Greg scribbled something down on his prescription pad. “You’re writing me a prescription? I don’t think there’s a pill to treat this.” she said, smiling again.

He shook his head and tore the sheet off, holding it out to her. “‘Screw the Roses, Give Me the Thorns’, by Philip Miller and Molly Devon.” She read it out loud, and then looked up at him questioningly.

He leaned back in his chair, trying not to let any of his tension show. He hoped that this wouldn’t turn out to be a _really_ bad idea. “Think of it as a Bible of BDSM. It’s got all the ins and outs-” here, he smirked faintly at his own choice of words - “of how to

dominate someone. Now go get it and read it, and we’ll discuss this again after you’ve had a chance to digest it all.” He turned back to his computer, dismissing her.

She wasn’t fooled, though. _He_ is _scared._ _But,_ she thought, looking down at the prescription slip, _he’s trying. It’ll do._ Just like the other night, when she’d realized the latent message beneath his gentleness was love - or as close to love as he could allow himself to feel at this point in his life – she realized that the message under this seemingly

dismissive act was that he was not totally against the idea. Again, it would do for now. Like he’d said, he was a non-traditional guy, and she’d gotten into this knowing that. 

Smiling again, this time to herself, she turned and left his office.

Two days later, she left work a little early – they’d solved their newest case, and so there was no need to for her to wait around – and went in search of Greg’s ‘BDSM Bible’. She hit up several sex shops (feeling a little self-conscious, but she supposed it was worth a little discomfort if it led to her having Greg totally at her mercy) finally finding it at the fourth place she visited.

 _There, one hurdle down,_ she thought. And was about to leave the shop, when her gaze passed over a rack of lingerie, and she got the idea that a little dress-up might help things along….if he agreed to submit, he deserved a little reward for his efforts, didn’t he?

She selected an armful of likely items, then headed off to the changing rooms in the back to see what she liked best. Twenty minutes later, she had settled on a nice black set, feeling very pleased with herself. There were just enough elements to the set that it would work well as a dominatrix costume, but if House balked in the end, it would also work fine as something to spice up regular sex – or if she let him dominate her again. She just needed some stockings and she’d be all set. She already had some black shoes at home with stiletto-type heels, so she figured she was prepared to do battle.

 

It had been a week since he’d given Allison that book recommendation. They’d gone out once since then, last Saturday: dinner at his favourite Thai place, and then a visit to his favourite jazz club. And he’d been spared the question of what to do in the bedroom – Top her? Let her top him? Engage merely in vanilla sex? – by the fact she’d been ‘having her thing at the end of a sentence’, as she’d so coyly put it. And that had left him feeling both relieved and unsatisfied, all things considered.

So when Allison again walked into his office late in the day, alone, a book under her arm, alarm bells started to ring in his head. She’d put brown paper over the cover, but when she passed it to him and he opened it, he saw it was indeed the book he had recommended to her. _Shit._ Now what? He hadn’t really given any constructive thought to her proposal. Well, that wasn’t true, he’d spent the first couple days thinking about it, and then finally decided it was a bad idea, and since then all he’d done was hope that she’d get squicked by the book, or somehow forget the whole thing. But the look on her face as she sat there, in the same chair she’d been in a week ago, made him pretty sure he wasn’t going to get off (no pun intended) that easy.

Allison studied his face, but it was carefully blank. _Uh-oh…I don’t_ get _it._ _Did someone hurt him, in the past? Is that why he’s so hesitant?_ She waited, but he just sat there, giving nothing away, and finally she said, “You’re not going to do it, are you? Despite what you said at the end of our first night together, you won’t give up control.”

He sighed. And didn’t answer. He didn’t want to tell her about Stacy. Didn’t want to admit to her that the last time someone had taken control of him, she had effectively emasculated him. Betrayed him…

If he was really _that_ scared to give up control, that was fine, she could understand. But she _did_ want an explanation. She decided to take the obvious guess. “You _did_ let someone have control over you, once, and the end result wasn’t pleasant.”

House could feel himself starting to get angry, but struggled to hide it. He didn’t want his shame out there for Allison – or anyone, for that matter – to see, if he could possibly help it.

But Alli knew him pretty well by now. “I can tell by the blank expression on your face that I’m onto something,” she said to him. _Damn it to Hell,_ he thought.

Looked like she had indeed hit a nerve. And he didn’t want to talk to her about. Which was not necessary, really, as his silence alone was giving her all the information she needed. The sadness she had felt last week rose up again within her. Well, if he could only get his release from tension by controlling her, by orchestrating _her_ pleasure, it was better than nothing.

She stood up. “OK, then, I’m sorry I brought it up. You can be the boss in the bedroom, too, it doesn’t bother me. I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to experience something different, but it’s not worth it if it makes you feel this uncomfortable.” And it _was_ true, she didn’t want to force him into anything he didn’t want to do. He hadn’t forced her to do anything she hadn’t wanted (although he had certainly been in a position to) that first time together, and she wasn’t forgetting that. She was a little disappointed, but no big deal. She’d get over it. She had Greg House as her lover, and a superlative lover, at that, so she didn’t feel _too_ cheated.

So she smiled at him to show him she _was_ OK, and that she meant what she had just said, and took the book from him before walking towards the door.

 _Damn. Damn, damn, DAMN._ He _hated_ being indecisive. Yes, he _was_ afraid, that was true. But at the same time, the raging hedonist in him, that he had kept well-buried over these last few days, now struggled up to the surface. _Do you_ really _want to let this pass you by? When has a woman_ ever _wanted to do that for you – to ‘take care of you’, as Alli put it?_ _Never._ Stacy hadn’t been interested in anything except bottoming. It was intoxicating, yes, and made him feel powerful, to be the one running the show….but Alli (and Stacy) obviously enjoyed being in the submissive role. It might well feel _really_ good to let someone else do all the work, to just lie back and drink all the sensations in, bathe in them, _drown_ in them…

Coming to a decision, he took the plunge. “Wait.” He used the desk and his cane to get himself up onto his feet, as Alli turned back towards him, her hand poised on the handle of the office door.

“I’ll do it. So long as you make the appropriate allowances for my crippled state.” He hoped he wouldn’t regret this.

Caught by surprise, Allison felt her answering smile widen into one of pure pleasure. He _did_ trust her. He _was_ willing to give it a try. “I already planned on that. And besides, there’s always the use of safewords. That’s not a privilege reserved just for me, you know, Greg.”

He nodded. _Good._ _Hopefully I won’t need to use it too often….if at all._

 

Allison had decided they would have their little ‘switch’ session Saturday night. That way, neither of them would be tired after a long day at PPTH, and she’d also have the whole day to decide what she was going to do. She’d already told him that she would take care of dinner – part of the package deal to ‘take care of him’, and now she went about the business of packing a duffle bag with her ‘costume’ and anything else she thought she might need.

She’d decided early on that it would be best to do this at his place. It was his turf, so he was bound to feel more comfortable and relaxed, and this was ultimately what she wanted.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of nervous apprehension and excitement. Similar to what she had felt that first time, when she’d been kneeling on his bedroom floor, waiting for him to make an appearance. And yet, it was different. That time, her nervousness and apprehension had been due to not knowing what she had gotten herself into, nor what he might do to her. This time, she knew that his safety and pleasure rested entirely on her. Could she pull this off? What if he didn’t like what she did to him? What if, despite her precautions, he wound up being in just too much pain to relax and give in? And if she screwed it up, would this be the only chance he gave her? Or would he even go so far as to dump her entirely?

She tried to calm herself, to quiet her fears. _Focus, Alli,_ she thought to herself. _Focus instead on how excited you are about doing this_ – because she _was. Finish getting ready to go, and then walk through it in your mind, what you want to do to him….don’t give in to the nervousness, or he’ll feel it, and get nervous_ himself _….and nervous and Greg House and_ enjoyment _probably don’t mix…._

 

When his doorbell rang, the feelings of apprehension that Greg had been trying to keep in the back of his mind suddenly came stampeding to the fore. _What have I gotten myself into?_ he asked himself. But even as he limped slowly to the front door, another part of him was jeering at what a wimp he was being. This was _Allison_ , who _loved_ him, not some 100$-an-hour domme with no feelings for him, nor an understanding of the kind of pain he lived with every moment of every day. _And there’s always my safeword. So buck up, laddie,_ he thought to himself.

He swung the door open, to see Allison in street clothes, carrying what appeared to be a duffle bag…and also a large paper bag, which appeared to be dinner.

“Hi,” he said, finding himself uncharacteristically unable to meet her eyes, as he stood aside to let her in. He focused instead on the paper bag in her hands. “That’s either the world’s biggest strap-on dildo, or you’ve brought dinner.” Trying to keep things light. Trying not to let his uneasiness show.

She laughed and walked in, heading past him towards the kitchen. “It’s the latter,” she called back over her shoulder, hearing him follow after her.

Once in the kitchen, she dropped her duffle in the corner and the bag on the table, and then started to pull cutlery from the drawers.

“And in the bag?” he asked her. When she turned to look at him, he indicated the duffle with his cane. _That’s a pretty big bag…. full of whips and chains and anal probes?_ he snarked to himself.

“You’ll see later.” She smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. He still seemed unable to meet her eyes, though, and that told her as much as anything else just how uncomfortable he was. _Let’s get some food into him, first, and then we’ll see about the rest..._

 

  


They’d had dinner, her trying the whole time to get him to relax, and Greg sometimes going along with it, joking and snarking back….but then he’d fall silent for a few moments and be unable to look at her, and she knew he was scaring himself again.

After dinner, he got up even more slowly than usual from the table, shoulders a little hunched, and sighed, clearly expecting Allison to start ordering him around any minute. Well, she wasn’t going to ‘play’ on a full stomach, and she wanted him more relaxed anyway, so she grabbed his hand and led him to his couch in the living room.

She turned the TV on, changing it to his favourite show, and then sat down next to him and snuggled into his side, putting her arms around him and gently stroking his side with her fingertips.

“Thought you wanted to be the boss, tonight.” he said to her, feeling confused. Had he managed to scare her off the idea after all? He didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

“I do. And right now I’m ordering you to sit back and watch your show. I know I’ll never hear the end of it, if you miss it.” She stretched up and kissed him, first on the cheek, and then on the mouth, smiling gently at him. _Relax, Greg,_ she thought at him. _You didn’t hurt me when you had me completely in your power….why would I hurt you?_

An hour later, they were still sitting there, and Allison felt ready to put her plan into action. Greg had indeed relaxed throughout his show, occasionally lowering his head to kiss her, putting his arm around her and toying with the ends of her hair, and Allison figured this was about as calm as he was going to get. She disengaged herself from him and stood up from the couch. His eyes followed her movements, and then when he saw her watching him, tension seemed to return to his body, his eyes dropping from hers again. He sat forward, clasping his hands in front of him.

 _God,_ stop _acting like a nervous teenage virgin,_ he berated himself. _What’s the big deal? She’s not going to pull a scalpel out of the duffle! Just keep repeating to yourself, Alli is not Stacy, Alli is NOT Stacy…._ and yet, his body’s reaction was at odds with his fears. Truth be told, he’d been half-hard from the moment he’d opened the door for her hours ago, despite his unease, and this very moment was no exception. 

Allison was about to say something to the effect of, “It’s time,” but then decided even that was over-dramatic. So she only said to him, calmly, “Let’s go in the bedroom.” She’d already moved her duffle in there after dinner, his eyes following her a little apprehensively as she’d done so, so she’d be all set once they got in there.

Greg reached for his cane and pushed himself up off the couch and onto his feet, moving towards her. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought. _Alli is NOT Stacy._

At that moment, Allison got an idea. Why not start his submission to her, show him she was going to take care of him, even now? “Stop.” she said. He did, still unable to meet her eyes for more than a few seconds. “Leave the cane.” When his gaze snapped up sharply to meet hers, a surprised look on his face, she added “Use me.”

He stood there a moment, wondering why this should make his heart race faster. He leaned the cane up against the couch, and then put his arm around her shoulders, leaning his weight on her. She moved slowly, guiding him to the bedroom, and he had to admit that this was more fun than using the cane. Canes didn’t have soft hair and skin, didn’t smell like pear shampoo and floral perfume…

Allison carefully matched her pace to his, ignoring her own mix of excitement and anxiety, not wanting to hurt him, even carrying out this simple act. She breathed an inner sigh of relief when they made it into the bedroom without incident. She got him seated on the edge of the bed, and then asked him to be patient while she changed.

She grabbed her duffle from the corner of the room, and then went into the master bathroom to change.

After the door closed behind her, Greg sat there for what seemed like forever, trying not to tense up too much, which would only cause his thigh to ache more. After awhile, he got up from the bed and limped carefully over to his night-stand, grabbing the bottle of Vicodin off the top and dry-swallowing two pills. He had no idea what Alli had planned for him, but he figured if he wanted to perform adequately, less pain was more.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, fidgeting. He scratched at his hair, then at his stubble, toyed with the crease in his pants, readjusted his rapidly growing erection…he wished he had his Gameboy, or his oversized tennis ball, his yo-yo, or even his cane. Something that he could play with, something to shift his tension into, so that he didn’t have to sit here with it. _What the fuck is she_ doing _in there?_

A moment later, she opened the door. She was wearing black shoes with stiletto heels (the heels wobbling dangerously on the hardwood flooring, he noticed – was she even going to be able to _walk_ in those?), black stockings, and had a black robe tied around her, made of some shiny satiny material. Her hair, which had been in a loose ponytail up til now, was hanging in loose waves around her shoulders, neck, and face, and he thought she looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before…though she’d looked pretty damn _good_ , naked and helpless and soaking wet for him, on this very same mattress not too long ago. An insistent throbbing between his legs told him that ‘Little Greg’ agreed with his appraisal.

She saw how his eyes were riveted to her body, and she smiled inwardly, knowing he had absolutely no idea that the real ‘goods’ were under her robe….that would be his reward for submitting to her. But she was still glad to see the heat in his gaze as she sashayed towards him, deliberately exaggerating the movement of her hips (and trying not to clomp too loudly on the floor), stopping in front of him.

He looked up at her. “Wow.” _Yeah, smooth, Greg._ But he didn’t know what else to say. Telling her she was beautiful didn’t seem to cut it, somehow.

She smiled, and reached out, touching his face. Letting her fingertips trail down his forehead, pausing to trace over the wrinkles. Sliding down the bridge of his nose. Brushing over his lips. _Such soft skin,_ she thought. And then let her hands explore the rougher, stubbly parts of his face: cheeks, chin, the underside of his jaw.

Stepping forward between his spread legs, she bent and kissed him, aggressively pushing her tongue into his mouth. His mouth yielding eagerly enough under hers, his tongue slipping around as she caressed it with her own.

He felt himself getting harder, felt some of the apprehension vanish. _This isn’t so bad._ Without thinking, he raised his hands, grasping her upper arms.

She felt him grab her, and broke off the kiss. _Bad boy,_ she thought. I’m _supposed to be doing the grabbing, here._ “No, Gregory.” She had already decided that while they were playing and he was in the submissive role, that’s what she would call him. She liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off the tongue. “Put your hands back down.”

Although he obeyed her immediately, the sudden flash of anger he felt was startling in its intensity. He tried to battle it down, telling himself that it was OK, that it was important for him to learn to trust someone else, for him to trust Alli, but it was not so easily squelched.

Allison saw the battle he was waging with himself, and cupped his cheeks in both hands, pressing kisses all over his face. Speaking to him in a low, calm voice. “It’s OK, Gregory. This is a safe place. You made it safe for me, before. I want to do the same for you. Will you let me?”

House closed his eyes, concentrating on her touch, on her scent surrounding him, on his own arousal. _Alli is NOT Stacy._ Letting the anger _go_. Working to calm himself. “Yes.”

She felt him relaxing (a little) under her hands. Now was as good a time to get him out of his clothes as any, she decided. No blazer, but a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up – _Such muscular forearms_ , she thought, feeling herself get even more aroused just at the sight of them – and jeans and presumably underwear. No big deal. She leaned closer, starting to kiss and lick at his neck, feeling him shudder under her hands as she laid them on his shoulders. His skin was hot, salty, and she paused to savour it, to commit his flavour to memory.

Greg let his eyes close, drinking in the sensations. Her mouth was warm, her tongue soft and slippery, his skin cool from where her saliva left it wet…he felt her hands slip to the buttons of his shirt, and she slowly undid them, letting her mouth move to his throat at the same time.

His stubble was _very_ rough, and she had to go carefully, so that her lips weren’t abraded by it. Kissing his throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bobbing against her lips, hearing his breath hitch. Letting her tongue swab the hollow of his throat. She gave him a gentle nip on his collarbone, listening to the low moan he gave in response, and then stood back up, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, tossing it on the chair next to the bed.

She realized suddenly that this was the _first_ time she was actually going to get a good look at Greg naked. Their first night together, she’d been blindfolded most of the time, and too heavy-lidded with sleep the rest. Or there’d been sheets over his body. Their second date, there’d been no action at all. So she had only the vaguest memory of what he looked like under his clothes.

 _Time to rectify that,_ she thought. She pulled on the bottom of his tee shirt, working it loose from his jeans, and wasted no time pulling it over his head and tossing it over to join his button-down.

House watched her, the part of his mind that was still clinician – unable to shut down entirely, even in the heat of passion – noting how she ran her eyes over his bare chest, how her breathing deepened. He could smell her arousal quite plainly, and suddenly it took everything he had in him not to shove himself up off of the bed, grab her, spin her around, force her down, find out what – if anything – was underneath that sexy black robe, and make her _his_. _Next time,_ he promised himself.

Allison stood there, admiring the upper body of her lover. Skin slightly darker than her own, firm muscles in his arms and chest, flat stomach. A light, sexy dusting of hair on his pecs, and a thin trail of hair going down the centre of his chest and belly, pointing the way to other delights…she shook her head, still not understanding how he could’ve described himself to her as “not great-looking”. _What bullshit_.

He saw her headshake, not understanding it. “What?” he asked, wondering what was wrong. Had she realized he was rebelling against her control, even if only in his thoughts, and she disapproved?

She met his gaze, wondering how she could make him understand how _beautiful_ he really was. Both physically and mentally. _Best to show him,_ she decided, _as he did with me. Words can only get you so far with Gregory House._ “Nothing,” she told him. “Get up.” And held out her hand.

He took it, still wondering what the meaning of her non-verbal communication had been. It clearly meant _something_ , despite her words to the contrary…but he didn’t think it would be a good idea to challenge her. Not when she was supposed to be the boss.

Once he was on his feet, Allison instructed him to use her again, to balance himself, while she divested him of his jeans and socks. It was a little difficult to get the zipper of his jeans down over the incredible bulge in his pants, and of course she also had to worry about stripping the jeans off without knocking him over by accident. But she managed the whole thing with a sufficient amount of grace, even in her stilettos. At one point, glancing up at him from the floor, she realized he was trying to see down the front of her robe, and she gave him one of her trademark eyebrow-raises as she caught him at it. “Such a naughty boy, Gregory,” she teased him, shaking her head and making tsking noises.

He jerked his eyes back up and cleared his throat, feeling self-conscious. And somehow even more aroused. But he didn’t want to break any of her rules – assuming she’d decided on any – and he didn’t want her to decide that she had to _punish_ him. Giving up control was hard enough. Having to take the humiliation of being punished… _no, thanks_. “I’m sorry….Mistress Allison.” Stupid, yeah, but he wanted to prove that he would obey, that he would be a ‘good boy’.

Surprised, she got up, tossing his jeans and socks with his other clothes, before meeting his gaze again. _That_ was a better reply than she might have expected. Maybe he was more willing to play along than she’d thought. “Very _nice_ , Gregory…but let’s make it Mistress _Alli_. I like that better.”

“’Kay.” he said, unable to meet her gaze again. But it did strike him as _interesting_ that the only other person in his life to consistently call him ‘Gregory’ was his mother…and usually when she was pissed off with him. _Hearing it from Alli, like this, is certainly more fun,_ he thought to himself. He let her assist him to sit on the bed again.

Once he was seated, Allison ran her eyes over him again, taking in the muscular left leg. Seeing the less developed right leg, the bottom of the scar peeking out from the hem of his boxers.

House saw she was examining his right leg, and resisted the urge to cover the damaged thigh, feeling the anger rising in him again. He did _not_ need this reminder of Stacy and what her decision had done to him and his life, especially now, when he was trying his _damndest_ to move on, to start to get beyond that…

Allison looked up at his face, noting his tension had increased. Once again, she tried to distract him with physical sensations, moving close to him and letting the smooth fabric of her robe graze his bare chest, running her fingers through his hair, stroking his face again. And felt the tension draining out of him once more.

 _Time to get things moving,_ she thought. “Since you haven’t suggested otherwise, I’m going to assume the safeword we used last time can serve the same purpose, tonight.”

“Sure.” Greg said. Feeling his anticipation – and _other_ things, like ‘Little Greg’ – rising. Wondering what she would do. If he was already enjoying the feeling of her against him so much, now, how much better could this get? Would it really feel that much better if he was powerless to influence the course of events? Looked like he was about to find out.

“D’you remember what it was?” she asked. Just checking.

“Yeah. Pineapple. Not much of a tongue-twister, but it does the job.” Trying to get some of his snark back – it made him feel more centred – but not enough to challenge her or piss her off.

“I can think of a few uses for that tongue of yours, and _that_ wasn’t one of them.” She told him, enjoying the smirk that she got from him in return. _And now comes the hard part._ “I want you to move to the centre of the bed, and then lie back.”

His heartbeat sped up again at those words, the unease inevitably increasing again, but he obeyed her, slowly and carefully moving back until he could lie down comfortably, all his limbs spread out on the mattress. Alli was walking away from him, and he watched her, trying to distract himself with the sight of her ass, the shiny fabric of the robe pulled nicely taut against it as she bent over, rummaging in the duffle bag for something.

She came back to the bed holding the soft cotton rope that she intended to bind him with. Watched his eyes track her progress towards the bed, watched them flick to the rope in her hands. “Are you ready, Gregory?” she asked him, calm and low.

 _God, she looks_ so _beautiful._ And the look in her eyes – _loving? Yes,_ he thought so – how could he deny her this, deny her _anything_?

“Yes….Mistress Alli.” He found himself swallowing around a throat gone suddenly dry…but with _need_ , not fear.

Allison started with his left wrist, wrapping the rope carefully around it several times, then securing it to the post on that side of the headboard. She walked unhurriedly around the bed, securing his right wrist in the same fashion.

She then walked back to the foot of the bed, to survey her work. And to admire her lover again. Now came another crucial junction, as those boxers had to go, which would expose the entirety of his scar to her. Had to be done, though. There was no way to take him through the cloth. But maybe she could get him to a point where he’d _beg_ her to remove them. _Yes, that’ll do_.

Climbing carefully up onto the bed, so as not to jar his leg, she settled herself close to his right hip. She began to run her hands over his chest, caressing and fondling his dark pink nipples (he was _very_ sensitive there, she could tell by the way his eyes glazed and his breath caught when she gently pinched them), running gentle fingertips through the curls on his chest, lightly massaging his muscles. Reaching up his bound arms as high as she could, to stroke the taut muscle there. “Comfortable, Gregory?” she asked. He had checked in with her when he’d had her helpless and vulnerable, it was only fair to follow suit.

“Yes, Mistress.” his voice huskier, deeper than usual. And then a gasping groan, as Allison let her hands brush quickly down over his belly, then closing warmly around his erection.

 _Oh. My. God._ Greg thought, the feel of her hands through the thin cloth of his boxers, the way she was stroking and squeezing him…his hips bucked, pressing himself into her hands, his own hands tightening into fists around the ropes that bound him. He had to bite off a cry as one of her hands stole down, to slide under the fabric of his boxers and tease his sac, scraping lightly with her fingernails.

“Oh God, _Alli,_ ” he said, forgetting himself, forgetting the ache in his thigh and the helplessness he had feared so much, as she leaned down and exhaled warm moist breath onto his cock, always through the material of his boxers.

“Do you want me to take your boxers off, Gregory? Would you like that?” _Looks like my evil plan is working. He’s not thinking about the scar, the damage…._

“Yes, _please_ …”. Even lifting his hips to help her, no longer caring that his ugliness would be totally exposed…just wanting to feel her skin directly on his….

She peeled them down and off his legs, tossing them away. And then got off the bed again.

Greg had expected her to continue touching him, and couldn’t understand for a moment why she had gotten up. When she reached down and then came up with more rope, this time wrapping it around his left ankle, he then understood that she intended to leave him as completely helpless as he had made her last time…and he was starting to think he might actually really _enjoy_ such an experience….

He couldn’t help stiffening a little, though, as she approached his weak leg with the rope. He didn’t think the limb could take the pressure of being tied to the bed, not the pressure that was currently pinning his arms and one leg to the bed, anyway.

Allison looked up at him, seeing the apprehension in his face. “Trust me, Gregory.” She wrapped the rope carefully around his right ankle…but then tied it only _very_ loosely to the bed-post. It was mostly for show, as she didn’t think he’d be able to lift the leg much without his hands to help him, anyway. But this way there was no real pressure or strain on the limb, and yet there was still the illusion that he was bound totally hand and foot and couldn’t escape.

“OK?” she asked him, deliberately laying a hand – a _very_ gentle hand – on his scar.

He had to swallow a few times before he could answer. “Yes.”

“Good. We’ll proceed, then.” Exactly what he had said to her, that first time he had tied her up.

It was time to show him the extent of her little costume. Moving back from the bed to give him a good look, she stripped off the robe and stood there, hands on her hips, gauging his reaction.

 _Wow. Just….wow_. She was wearing a little black lingerie number, so erotic that he didn’t know where to look first. At the see-through lace cups covering her lovely nipples. At the way it clung to her body, much like a corset (except that no actual body-modification was taking place). At the garter straps coming from the bottom, holding up the black stockings he’d noticed before. And the little black panties, also with a see-through panel of lace right at the key spot, her pubic hair clearly visible. And he nearly swallowed his tongue when she turned around to show him the back, the panties cut so that they nearly disappeared between the sweet cheeks of her ass.

“Wow,” he said. _How did I ever wind up with such a sexpot?_ “The view alone is making this worthwhile.”

“I’m glad you like it, Gregory.” she said, turning back to face him and stalking slowly towards the bed, hips wiggling enticingly. “I bought it just for us, for tonight.”

She crawled halfway up the bed, pausing to reward him by wrapping her mouth around the swollen head of his cock. He was so big, she had a little trouble taking him in. But God, he tasted _so_ good, it felt so wonderful to have him in her mouth, that she didn’t mind having to open so wide to accommodate him.

Greg moaned, pulling on his bonds, trying to thrust his hips up…and unable to. It was frustrating. It was erotic. It was agonizing. It was delicious. How could he have been scared of _this_?

Allison found herself understanding what the draw of being dominant was. The way Greg was moving under her, the sounds he was making, the heady feeling of having complete power over him…especially given how long he’d held the position of power in their relationship, even before she’d developed her crush on him…God, she was getting wet. Time for Greg to show his appreciation.

She climbed up further on the bed, pausing to taste each of his nipples (he groaned loudly and tugged hard at his bindings), and then positioned herself so that she was kneeling above his head, facing the headboard. She slid her feet carefully under his upper arms, and then moved back a bit so that he wouldn’t have to strain too much to follow her commands.

“Kiss me, Gregory.” she ordered him, moving her stocking-clad thigh so that he could reach it easily if he turned his head. God, that feeling of _power_ ….

Greg didn’t hesitate, turning his head and straining to kiss the bare flesh of her thigh, right above the top of her stocking. Unable to resist licking, as well (he hoped she wouldn’t punish him for his audacity), enjoying the flavour of her skin, hoping he’d get to taste the sweetness between her thighs before too long. He told himself he wouldn’t beg….but then again, hadn’t he told himself that he’d never let anyone get him into this position?

“Very nice, Gregory,” Allison purred. “Don’t forget my other leg.” Watching through half-lidded eyes as he moved to obey her. Feeling her panties getting wetter by the second. The feel of his lips and tongue on her skin, so delicious, the sensual scrape of his stubble…it caught a little in the delicate fabric of her stockings, but she didn’t care.

The way she was purring was having an undeniable affect on him. He felt himself getting even harder in response to that note in her voice, as if she was somehow milking his cock with her voice alone. _Oh God_ ….

She wanted to feel his tongue on her clit. Wanted him to worship her with his mouth. But she wanted to hear him ask for it.

“You want to taste me, don’t you, Gregory? You want to put your tongue inside me?”

 _Oh God, she’s going to give me a heart attack. I’m too old for this._ Although ‘Little Greg’ was disagreeing heartily. And at the very least, he was too aroused to feel his bad thigh at all. “Yes.”

“Then _ask_ me, Gregory. _Convince_ me. Tell me what you want to do to me.” So intoxicating, to have him at her mercy, to make him talk dirty to her, to make him _beg_.

 _She must have put some kind of_ spell _on me,_ he thought. Because without hesitation, he told her what she wanted to hear. “I want to shove my tongue inside you as hard as I can. I want to run it up and down your folds. I want to taste your clit, to feel it pulsing between my lips as I suck on it. I want to taste your sweet juices, breathe you in.” God, he was so _fucking_ hard. “I want to feel you come on my face. Please, Al- _Mistress_ Alli.” And it was true, he wanted all of that. Wanted to be at her mercy, drowned in her as she lost control above him.

It wasn’t _that_ big a deal, saying those things to her. He’d said similar dirty things – Hell, even _much_ worse – to Stacy when he’d had her tied up. But the _feel_ of doing it this way was much different. It was one thing to be talking dirty when you were teasing helpless _prey,_ it was quite another when you were begging your partner to let you taste her….

“Well, I can hardly refuse such a silver-tongued devil.” Allison said, smiling at her own words. And she carefully lowered herself – panties still on – onto his lips. Listened to him groan, felt him licking at the fabric. And she let herself moan in response.

He had no words for what he was feeling. He had thought that topping someone was intoxicating, but now he was realizing that bottoming had its own brand of intoxication, as he became nearly drunk on the sensations. Her scent was all around him, the lace of her panties a little rough under his tongue, soaked with the combination of her juices and his saliva, and he struggled against his bonds, wanting the fabric out of the way, wanting to force her naked pussy down on his mouth, wanting to use his teeth on her (not to hurt her, though, never _that_ ), wanting to _devour_ …but he could do nothing unless she allowed it.

He was frantic beneath her, nipping at the fabric, growling a little in his throat, and Allison couldn’t resist teasing him even further, pulling herself away from his hungry mouth a couple of times, making him raise his head to try to stay with her.

She finally relented, pulling herself up above him for a moment, to pull the lace to the side so he could have full access. But then a devilish streak intervened, and she allowed him only one swipe of his tongue across her folds, before she raised herself out of reach again.

 _She_ is _going to kill me_. But he knew what he had to do. His voice cracked and he had to clear his throat, before saying: “Please, Mistress Alli…let me-“

Allison wasted no time, pressing herself back down on her lover’s mouth. He immediately shoved his tongue hard into her, and she had to grab the headboard as her legs threatened to give way.

She tasted _so_ good. And he wanted to consume every drop of her. Pulling out of her, to suck her juices from his tongue, before shoving it back into her again. Pulling out again so he could carefully suckle the tender inner lips, could swipe his tongue from one end of her to the other. Feeling her flesh tremble and throb against him. Finally moving his mouth to her clit, sucking on it, gnawing carefully at it, finally flicking it sharply and rhythmically with his tongue, as she got louder and louder, as she started to move up and down on his face…

 _Oh God, this feels_ so _good_ , Allison thought. His stubbled chin burning against the entrance to her vagina, the heat and softness of his mouth against her, the sharp sensations of him working her clit with lips and teeth and tongue...She rode his mouth, getting closer and closer to orgasm, until she could take it no longer, removing one hand from the headboard to tangle it in his hair as she pressed herself down hard on his greedy lips and gave in to her climax…

He moved his mouth back to the entrance to her pussy, savouring the slightly different flavour of her, now that she’d been satisfied. Feeling the insistent throbbing between his legs, hoping that she intended to satisfy _him_ …and soon, before the top of his head blew off.

Allison came back to herself, getting up and off of him before she suffocated him. “That was amazing, Gregory. Thank you for working so hard to please me.” She kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth, tasting herself on him.

“My _pleasure_ ,” he said, after she’d released his mouth, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

“Well, I think we should indeed see to _your_ pleasure _,_ now.” Allison said, eager to even the score. She didn’t want to keep him tied up too long. _She’d_ been stiff after their first session, and she didn’t have a bad thigh and strained shoulders and an aching back. 

So she slid down his body, wrapping her mouth around him. He was rock-hard, burning hot inside her mouth, and he almost immediately began moaning and struggling against his bonds as she teased him with slow strokes of her tongue along his length. Shifting position so she could tease him and see the look on his face at the same time. Her mouth closing around him, moving up and down. Then pulling back to stroke her tongue around the tip, licking up the droplets that kept forming at the head of his cock. Caressing his balls, gently squeezing them, and then moving her fingers underneath them to massage him there....

He felt like he was drowning, like he couldn’t get a coherent thought to form in his head, felt himself going slack-jawed as his brain short-circuited. She was tormenting him, and he could do nothing about it, could only lie here struggling and burning with his need….and loving every second.

He was getting so close to climaxing, but Alli wasn’t ready to let him come, yet. He’d teased her pretty mercilessly last time, and now she intended to make him feel the same sweet frustration she had.

When he felt himself get to the edge, and then Alli stopped touching him, he couldn’t help himself. “FUCK!” he yelled. Logic had completely gone out the window. Rational thought was impossible. He pulled hard at the ropes, desperate to free himself, desperate to shove himself into her heat…

Alli watched him carefully, resisting the urge to give him what he was obviously in such need of, knowing that if she held off, he’d thank her later. When he finally calmed down, looking at her with his face flushed, his body soaked in sweat, his erection insistently throbbing against his belly, she knew it was time for their final act.

She kicked off the heels so she could stand up on the bed, his eyes hungrily following every move as she slowly stripped off the panties. She then got off the bed and dug in one of his night-table drawers for his condom supply. Finally returning to the bed to sheath his aching erection in cool latex.

One last tease, though. She straddled him, and then leaned forward, pushing the lace off her nipples and offering them to him.

Groaning, he captured first one, then the other nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, nibbling, wanting to please her so that she’d let him inside her, so that she’d finally give him what he _needed_.

Allison finally decided to take pity on her lover, disengaging herself from his mouth and moving backwards, taking him into her hand and guiding him to the entrance of her body.

Greg had to bite his lip, hard, to keep from shouting “YES!” at the top of his lungs, and just concentrated on not shooting his load before she could even get him inside her…

She lowered herself down slowly onto him. Partially to make sure she didn’t jar his thigh, but also because he was swollen huge with his desire. She was incredibly wet, both from her earlier orgasm and from the deliciousness of having him at her mercy like this, but he was still _huge_ , and thus some caution was in order…and of course it was also yet another way to torment him.

He thought he might have lost years off his life, just from the sweet agony of feeling her slowly lower herself down on him, and he couldn’t even thrust up into her, could do nothing but lie there and _feel_ ….but she finally took him all the way inside her, bracing her arms on his shoulders as she started moving herself slowly up and down on him.

 _God._ There was no way to describe what he was feeling. The way her inner muscles massaged him, the caress of her body moving against his, slow at first, and then faster and faster. The silky drip of her juices, coming out of her and running down his balls. The sounds she was making as she rode him, the noises coming out of his own throat as he begged her to let him finish…

He felt so good inside her, hard and hot and throbbing. She could practically feel every distended vein on the surface of his cock rubbing against her inner walls as she slid herself up and down his shaft. She wanted to come with him, so she reached down, caressing her own clit in quick little circles, hearing him groan as he took in the sight of her pleasuring both herself and him at the same time…

He was almost over the edge again, and although it crossed her mind to stop once more, to tease him one final time, she took pity on him and instead moved even harder and faster against him….and besides, she was getting close to orgasm, herself.

He was all sensation. He couldn’t think. Colors exploding behind his eyes as he finally achieved his long-delayed climax, crying out Alli’s name as he experienced a full-body explosion, as he emptied all his passion into her body, feeling her start to convulse around him in response…

Greg felt as if he had died and gone to heaven, as if he was floating. Warm and sated, he slowly came to himself, to realize Alli had somehow already untied him. He moved his limbs carefully, feeling a little achy, but not as bad as he might have expected. That incredible orgasm had left his muscles feeling like jelly, and had all but erased the pain in his thigh….he opened his eyes as Alli cuddled up against his side, still in her lingerie.

Allison purred with pleasure as Greg’s arms closed tightly around her, as he kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue pressing eagerly between her lips. Her own muscles were rapidly turning to mush…but she _needed_ to reestablish this connection with him, before she did anything else.

He pulled back, then fixed her with those gorgeous eyes. “God, Alli, that was _amazing_. _You’re_ amazing.”

 _How did I get so lucky?_ he asked himself.

She was glad that he seemed happy – more than happy – with the whole experience, but there _was_ one thing that was bothering her. “I’m sorry, Greg…I…I know last time I had a lot of orgasms, and this time I only let you have one…but I didn’t want to keep you tied up too long-“

“What? This isn’t a competition, Alli.” He drew her back into his arms again, pressing kisses all over her face. _Figures she’d worry about something like that_ …but then again, that was one of the reasons he felt about her the way her did, that she got concerned about things like this…that she _cared_. “Besides, when I think back to how I was tormenting you all those months, when you wanted me and I wouldn’t allow myself to get close to you…well, I figure I owe you quite a few ‘freebies’.”

She laughed, but was secretly relieved to hear him say that. _Not_ only because she’d been worried about not keeping things ‘equal’ between them in terms of climaxes, but because it felt good to hear that he realized he’d been unfair to her, earlier on in their working relationship, and that he was willing to make reparations for that.

But she was rapidly getting sleepy again, and she still had some clean-up to do, so she reluctantly left the comfort of Greg’s arms, padding to the bathroom. She came back with a warm washcloth, removing the condom and cleaning him off. Then she went back to the bathroom and removed the lingerie, carefully setting it aside, and cleaned herself off.

When she got out of the bathroom, Greg was already under the sheets, so Alli went around the apartment, turning off all the lights, and then slid into bed and back into his arms.

“I hope we get to do that again. _Soon._ ” Greg murmured in her ear. And he _meant_ it.

“Only if you promise to still let me be the submissive one, sometimes. It’s fun to dominate you, but also a _lot_ of fun to let you dominate me.” Letting him take care of her, letting him do all sorts of naughty things to her helpless body….she hoped he never lost his taste for doing that.

“Wouldn’t _dream_ of depriving you, Alli.” He kissed her deeply, and then they resumed the position they’d taken on that first night, lying side-by-side and holding hands.

He was already thinking about what he might do to her next, in fact, as he let sleep claim him….

  



	3. Edgeplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House and Cam engage in some heavy role-playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Don’t sue me. I make no money from this. Honest! I just reap the luuuuuuuuuurve.  
> Special thanks to: katakombs for her comments and support and corrections, and for helping me out with House’s mindset in the early pages.  
> Author Note: Basically AU, as I’ve noted before. Or, if you prefer, the series follows canon up to ‘Love Hurts’, and then makes an unsignaled left turn into a parallel universe…  
> Public service announcement: BTW, I made an error in Trust and Control, Part 2: Switch. The correct title of the book I mentioned (yes, it IS an actual book), is ‘Screw the Roses, SEND Me the Thorns’.

_God, what a day,_ House thought, rubbing his palm over his cheek, feeling the rasp of the stubble.

They'd solved their latest case, but _what_ a pain. A kid, and the parents had been questioning the team every step of the way, balking at signing consent forms for _every_ goddamn test...but they'd finally hit upon the right diagnosis and used the correct test to confirm it, and everything had worked out.

He'd sent the team home for the day, and now was sitting in his darkened office. His music was on - The Who, this time - but he wasn't really listening. Instead, he was busy contemplating recent developments between him and Allison at PPTH, and what he might to do to her (in the bedroom) as a result.

A month or so had passed since Alli had pulled her first stint as a domme. They'd had plenty of sex since then, both vanilla and more SM-flavoured, but they hadn't really tried anything new. He'd tied her up a few times - to a chair, to his kitchen table - and she'd tied him up another time, this time also to a chair - and the rest had been pretty tame. Not that things were getting stale yet, but House still liked to spice things up whenever he could, and saw no need to wait until they were thoroughly bored with each other's current routine, to do so.

There was something he’d tried with Stacy. It had gone OK in the end, but _man_ , what a struggle it had been with her in the beginning. She’d insisted on the whole thing being _scripted_ , right down to practically the tiniest detail. And although she’d finally given him the control to carry it out, being forced to work from an exact script had really taken much of the thrill out of it for him. As it was something he’d always fantasized about doing, both before and after Stacy had come and gone in his life, the fact he’d had to work so hard for it, and gotten so little thrill out of it, had been quite the disappointment at the time.

Problem was, he didn’t know if such a scene would be too much for Alli. He still really loved the idea – always had - and he wanted to try it out with her. Hell, he’d even briefly – _very_ briefly – considered doing it with her that very first night that she’d given up control to him. But he’d known better. Besides, he’d had enough of a struggle already, trying to overcome his own hesitation to get deeply, emotionally involved with someone new, after the way Stacy had hurt him…and while he’d been battling himself, Allison had been kneeling on his bedroom floor for far longer than she should have been. _Coward._ Thank God he’d finally worked up the nerve to haul ass to his place and to take what Alli had been so willing to offer.

But his relationship with Alli, in many ways, was much deeper and stronger than it had ever been with Stacy. He’d never allowed anyone but Alli to take full control over him. And she trusted him – he still wasn’t entirely sure why – more than Stacy ever had.

So maybe he could take a crack at this whole dark idea of his, and not have to rely on a script. Hell, maybe he could even just go ahead and do it without any warning. He’d have to be careful, of course. More careful than if they actually plotted the whole thing out. He’d better not try anything that was too much for her, too close to ‘edge play’, as it was called. If he put her into any kind of _real_ distress or heart-wrenching fear, he’d never forgive himself…but then again, hadn’t she done something close to ‘edge play’ to him, when she’d insisted on being his domme? _True, but it worked out fine_ …better _than fine,_ he thought. _Besides, isn’t this always the problem when both partners take both roles, that they can take ‘revenge’ on each other if one of them pushes things too far when they’re in the dominant role…Maybe if Alli ends up hating me for what I’m going to do, I can always point out how scary it was for_ me _to submit to_ her _, and that ‘turnaround is fair play’, blah blah blah_ ….But he knew he was getting ahead of himself.

And speaking of edge play, this reminded him of something Alli had started doing, _at work_ , no less, which made him wonder about her as-yet unspoken needs and desires…

It had started last week. The whole team had been in the conference room, discussing a case, throwing out potential diagnoses, assigning tests. Chase and Foreman had left the room, leaving only him and Alli. She’d made some joking remark about how much he was ‘riding’ her at work, shouldn’t he really save that for when they were at home alone, and how _naughty_ he was being…and then she’d given him a swat on the rump. Enough to unbalance him and make him stagger a little against the side of his desk. He’d covered up his surprise and his near-stumble, instead choosing to make some snide comment back and send her on her way. They were at work, after all, and an office with glass walls was hardly the place to be doing this (although when he glanced around, no one in the hallway seemed to have noticed Alli’s swat at him, thank God).

He might have passed it off as nothing – she’d been tired, PMS’ing, too much coffee, whatever. Except that she’d done it again two days ago. This time, she’d come sidling up to him in the parking lot, when they’d been leaving late and no one was around to witness them, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. And when he’d made a grab for her ass, as he was wont to do in such situations, she’d dodged away, laughing, and given him another swat on the rear. Before dancing off to her car. They’d met later on at her place, and he’d waited for her to say something, _anything_ , about why she’d turned suddenly spank-happy, but she hadn’t brought it up again.

It was a puzzle, and as usual, he couldn’t let it go until he’d worked it through. He couldn’t remember when or where he’d first heard it, but he’d known for some time that when it came to things like sex, your partner often did to you what they actually wanted you to do to _them_. Instead of _telling_ you, which could be potentially embarrassing, they’d do it non-verbally. It meant less chance of getting a negative response…but it _also_ meant that your partner might or might not figure out that _that_ was what you’d like them to do to you.

So if that was indeed what was going on, Alli was spanking him because that was something she wanted him to do with _her_. She’d never brought it up in their early discussions about what they wanted to try out in the bedroom, and he didn’t know what had made her suddenly display this nonverbal signal – if that’s what it _was_ , even – but maybe it was only that as she was getting more comfortable with him, with _them_ , these deeper desires were starting to surface.

So once again, the question became: How to handle it? Confront her about it directly? Find a reason to ‘punish’ her during some scene and try it out (but not be _too_ heavy with the spanks at first, of course)? Maybe he could even work it into the scene he was currently contemplating….if he _dared_. Hell, maybe this was even a sign that she _wanted_ ‘heavier’ play, and thus now would be the perfect time to introduce her to his twisted little scene idea?

He sighed, and gathered his things. No point debating this back and forth with himself in his office. Not when he could be home sprawled comfortably on his couch. Or tickling the old ivories.

He headed out towards his ‘vette, mind still awhirl with the possibilities…

 

 

 The next day was a boring one for both of them. No new cases, but Cuddy was after Greg to do clinic duty catch-up in the interim, which meant that she and Eric and Chase had to find a way to amuse themselves until he received a new case.

Chase was doing crosswords, Eric was reading some neurology papers, and Alli busied herself dealing with House’s mail…she knew that he still didn’t understand or approve of her trying to smooth things over between him and the desperate patients who wrote to him, but Alli didn’t feel the need to explain or justify her actions to him. Or to change them just on his say-so. Besides, she had to do _something_ to keep from being utterly bored to tears.

In the early afternoon, House suddenly appeared, limping into the conference room. “Chase, Foreman, you’re getting a bye. Go home.” The boys shot surprised looks at each other, and then scrambled to their feet and left before House could change his mind. He motioned Allison into his office with his head, and then limped in ahead of her.

He put his bag on his desk and started packing up. “I was a good little _mensch_ and did my clinic hours with a minimum of _kvetching_ today,” he said, in response to her questioning look. “So Cuddy decided since we had no new cases, she’d let us take off early.”

“Fine by me. I have some things I have to do. Dry cleaning. Grocery shopping. Fun stuff like that.” She smiled at him.

He nodded. “Are we still on for 5:30, then?”

“Oh yes,” she assured him. “Won’t take me long. Unlike many women, I _hate_ to shop.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to do, also. I should be home before you, though.”

“’Kay.” She went to get her own bag, and they walked out to the parking lot together.

After walking her to her car, and glancing around to make sure they were unobserved, Greg dropped a quick peck on her lips. Allison was fairly certain that no one at PPTH realized yet that they were dating (if one could call it that), and Greg seemed in no hurry to let their secret get out, even though they’d been dating for over a month. Still, given how active the PPTH gossip mill could be, she had often thought over the course of their relationship that he actually might be justified in ‘not having a personal life’ in evidence at the office. Just witness the uproar their one ‘official’ restaurant date had caused. _Nope, still don’t want to go back there, Alli_ , she thought to herself.

So she kissed him chastely back, and then climbed into her car. _Plenty of time for wet sloppy kisses and passionate groping later today, in private,_ she promised herself.

 

 

Allison had finished all her errands and was sitting in her car, about to start it and drive the 15 minutes to Greg’s place, when her cell rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s me, Alli.”

“Hey. What’s up? I was just on the way to your place.”

“I just thought I’d let you know that I’ve been having _sinful_ thoughts.” His voice was low, seductive, and Allison could already feel herself responding to it.

“Oh, really?” she asked, playing coy.

“Indeed. And I wanted to know if you were happy with our current safeword, or if you wanted to ‘upgrade’ it to something else?”

_Oh, he’s planning something_ sinful, _indeed._ Allison grinned to herself. “Nah, ‘pineapple’ is still OK for me. Unless you were planning some kind of Hawaiian scene, where the use of the word ‘pineapple’ would be in-context.”

“Nope,” came his reply.

“Then it still works for me, if it works for you.”

“Good….Alli, I….” he started to say.

She waited, but there was nothing but a long pause.

“Greg?” she asked, starting to feel a little concerned. Not that speechlessness was an unusual thing for him in certain situations, but it wasn’t like they’d been talking about _feelings_ , or anything like that.

“I….I just wanted you to know that I…I _care_ about you. A _lot_.”

It was a good thing she was sitting down, or she might have fallen over. Her mind raced. How to reply to a pronouncement like that from Greg House? Obviously, she wasn’t going to laugh at him, but she figured saying “ _AWWWW_ , how _sweeeeet_ ,” wasn’t exactly going to go over well, either. Instead, she tried to sound happy, but not sappily so. “I know, Greg. And I _care_ about you, too.” She couldn’t resist adding, with a more teasing note, “A _lot._ ”

She was relieved to hear a quiet chuckle from his end, and then he said, “Alright, see you in a bit.” And hung up. He’d never been much for the pleasantries of phone conversations, but she’d gotten used to that quickly. Just another one of his idiosyncrasies. No big deal. Feeling thoughtful, she started the car and headed over.

 

 

Allison let herself into House's place with the duplicate key he'd given her that first night. His apartment was dark, and there was no sign of him, which surprised her - she thought he'd been calling her from there; that he’d made it home before her. No problem. She turned on the living room lights, before dumping her stuff in the corner and removing her shoes.

She idly considered surprising him by starting supper. They'd had a long week, even if it _had_ been a slow day, and she was sure he'd appreciate it after all that clinic duty. And it _also_ meant he’d have more energy for whatever ‘sinful’ thing he’d been planning. But first, she decided, she'd take a little nap. Just to work up enough energy for cooking.

She wandered down the dark hallway, not bothering to turn on the lights. She paused in the doorway of House's bedroom, groping for the light switch. 

And that was when a leather-gloved hand snaked out of the darkness behind her, and clamped itself over her mouth. 

She froze completely, the smell of leather strong in her nostrils. Unable to move even as another arm came out of the darkness, wrapping itself tightly around the front of her shoulders and yanking her back against a tall, sinewy body. Belatedly, she started to struggle.

“Well, well, _well,_ what have we here?” A low voice rasped into her ear. And Allison froze again at the sound of it. _It’s_ Greg, she realized.

As she went still again, House thanked his lucky stars. He’d already been worried about attempting this little scene with her unannounced, just in principle, but he’d been even _more_ worried that she’d freak out when he grabbed her, kicking and screaming, and that she’d give his leg a good whack in the process.

Allison had come here _expecting_ some kind of BDSM scene, but she hadn’t expected him to try to pull off anything like this. He _had_ promised never to hurt her, but he had never promised not to _scare_ her…and now that the initial shock had worn off, she had to admit this was kind of fun…kind of like watching a horror movie with your boyfriend.

Besides, he had reminded her of her safeword over the phone, not to mention his surprising admission that he cared about her – probably the closest thing to an ‘I love you’ that she’d ever get from him. Not that it was a surprise that he cared, only that he had chosen to actually _say_ it. But both of these things told her that underneath the scary ‘attacker’, there was still the man she loved, and she knew he’d never do anything to jeopardize her safety.

So, she decided to play along. Feeling the hand over her mouth loosen, she whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.” She realized she was shaking, but at the moment, she felt more _aroused_ than scared or nervous. Just what sorts of evil things was he planning to do _this_ time?

She seemed to be willing to play this little game with him…but this was definitely a step (a _big_ step) beyond how they usually played, so House figured extra caution was warranted. He promised himself that he would check her face once they were in the bedroom, just to be sure that she was OK with this.

But, in the meantime - “Behave yourself, like a good little girl, and I won’t _have_ to hurt you….and right now, that means that you don’t scream, and you don’t try to run. Got it?”

When she nodded her head, a short sharp movement, House shoved her forward through the doorway of the bedroom….this was where it would get tricky, as he’d discarded his cane back in his home office while he’d been lying in wait for Allison, and now he somehow had to ‘force’ her forward while not losing his own balance or hurting his bum leg….but he managed it, leaning his weight on her as much as he dared as he slowly pushed her into the room ahead of him.

His eyes were fairly accustomed to the dark by now, and so he was easily able to make out the edge of the bed, herding his ‘captive’ towards it….

Allison couldn’t see anything, and wasn’t quite as familiar with the layout of House’s place as he was, so she got another surprise as her knees suddenly contacted the edge of the bed. Off-balance, she was completely unable to resist him (not that she really wanted to) as he pushed her down onto the bed, facedown.

“Don’t move. Don’t even _think_ about moving, little girl.” He made his slow way over to the side of the bed, and then moved towards the back wall until he reached the night-table. He switched on the bedside lamp, which he’d set to a very dim setting earlier. The faint light created ominous shadows in the corners of the room, which set just the right level of menacing ambience, but also allowed him enough light to see Alli’s face…not to mention to be able to see what the Hell he was doing…

When the light came on, despite House’s command not to move, Allison couldn’t resist raising her head to look at him. He was dressed completely in black, she saw – black sneakers, black jeans, black tee shirt (exposing those nice muscular forearms – Mmmmm)….the surprising elements were those black leather gloves, and the fact that he also had a dark-colored ski mask on. For a moment, she almost believed that she was wrong, that somehow this _wasn’t_ Greg, that it was all _real_ …..but then he was moving back towards her, and the familiar combination of awkwardness and grace as he dealt with the bad leg, without the help of his cane, convinced her that it was him. It was just a game - a darker, _scarier_ game than they’d ever acted out before, but still a game.

House saw Allison watching him as he moved back towards her, and was glad. He’d been planning to check her eyes anyways, but now he could also plant the seed for the “punishment” that she might give him leeway to act out…

Once he was close enough, he grabbed her by the chin, tilting her face up so he could glare directly into her eyes. Modulating his voice down to a low growling rasp, he snarled at her, “I said _not_ to move, little girl. Consider this your last warning. Disobey me _again_ , and you’ll see what I do to bad girls who make me angry…”.

She didn’t look _afraid_ , he noted. She was nervous, yes, and he could feel her shaking, but she had no trouble meeting his eyes. And she wasn’t safewording, either. Still, he resisted the urge to break the scene and double-check that she was OK. He didn’t plan to do anything, except maybe the punishment, that was beyond what they’d acted out before (just the context was darker), and she’d have to actively ‘earn’ the punishment, so that alone added an element of safety.

Allison looked up into Greg’s face, although with the dim light behind him, his face and eyes were almost totally in shadow. And again, she fought off the urge to scare herself by imagining it wasn’t him. Unable to see his eyes in the shadows, and unable to smell his skin or feel his calluses against her chin because of the leather gloves, it was too easy to imagine that she was at the mercy of a cruel stranger…

He pressed his fingers a little harder into her skin. “Understand me?” Wanting to make sure that she was still capable of verbalizing. It had happened early on with Stacy, once, that he’d done something that was just too much for her, and instead of safewording, she’d just _shut down_ , and when they’d worked the problem through afterwards, they’d found that pretty much any verbalization was a problem when one’s mind was busily disconnecting itself from the scene. So forcing Stacy to respond to him verbally during scenes had managed to substitute for safewords, during those rare moments when she was in distress, but unable to let him know. An extra precaution.

Allison forced herself to respond, surprised by how shaky and weak her voice suddenly sounded. Oh, she was scaring herself but _good_. “Yes.”

That didn’t cut it for House. He didn’t like how she sounded, not at _all_. “I can’t hear you, little girl. Convince me that you’re actually paying attention.” _C’mon Alli, stay here in scene with me, or safeword if you don’t want this…_

He probably didn’t realize it, but his voice had gotten lower, softer. The gravelly edge of it was gone. And that reminded Allison of how he had been with her, that first time. On the surface, he had been acting so detached, as if taking total control over her (the control she had given over to him freely) meant nothing…but she had realized at the time that he _did_ care, that he wanted her to feel safe and secure in her submission to him….and it was the same thing now. A darker, rougher version of the illusion, but she knew it was still the man who loved her – even if he’d never say so – underneath it all. Feeling much better about the whole thing, she fixed her gaze on his face and said, loud and clear, “ _Yes_.”

House grinned inwardly, hearing the change in her voice. _Good._ Trying to ignore the sense of relief he felt. If he did anything to jeopardize what he had with Alli….

“Good.” he repeated out loud, releasing his grip on her face. He limped over to a chair that he’d previously left near the bed, with some items he’d thought he would need already arranged on it. Dragging the chair over to the foot of the bed, he picked up the first item, a moderately-long length of soft nylon rope. “Put your hands behind your back. _Now._ ”

Allison did as he said, feeling him wrap rope around her wrists, tying them securely. And then he ordered her to cross her ankles, and she felt him tying a second rope around them, in such a way that she could no longer close her legs completely. A shudder of desire went through her, wondering what deliciously naughty things he might do to her…

He felt her shudder, and knew it wasn’t out of fear…but he could still build it into their scene. “Don’t be afraid, little girl,” he rasped. “I promise, you do as you’re _told_ , and I won’t hurt you.” He grabbed the last item he needed off the chair – the same scarf he’d used to blindfold her that first night - and bound it around her eyes, before grabbing her by the shoulder and hip, and rolling her over onto her back. He wasn’t going to keep her blindfolded for the whole scene, but he rather thought this part would be more arousing if she couldn’t see what was coming.

She couldn’t help gasping a little as he blindfolded her…no matter how many times he’d done that to her, there was always that small rush of fear and arousal, fear because he’d taken away that much more of her control, but arousal, because she knew all tactile and auditory sensations would be magnified a hundredfold…

Once he had her on her back, he arranged her to his satisfaction, letting her legs dangle off the bed at the knees, and ensuring that he could reach her easily…he released her, and she heard him dragging the chair even closer, and then the soft creak as he lowered himself into it.

For a moment, nothing happened, and even though she knew this was exactly what he wanted her to do, she couldn’t help tensing, waiting to see what he’d do next. She jumped a little an instant later, as his fingers slowly popped open the top button of her blouse.

He hadn’t told her that she couldn’t talk, and she found herself wanting to ‘play’ with the fantasy as well, so she conjured up her best scared-shaky voice and said to him, “Please, _don’t._ There’s money in my purse. I didn’t see your face…. _please_ , just take the money and _go._ ”

House shook his head in wonderment. Alli just kept on amazing him. That first night, being so trusting, so willing to give up control to him. And then later dominating _him_ , and being so caring and so careful with him….and even when they’d had just plain vanilla sex or a little bondage since then, she kept reacting in ways that showed him just how lucky he was to have her in his life, and not just as an employee….and _God_ , ‘Little Greg’ was already starting to pay rapt attention to their delicious little captive…

He chuckled darkly, before slowly popping open another button on her blouse. “Not here for the money, little girl. I want…. _other_ things. Things that only a lovely little girl like yourself can give….” Another button.

Oh God, he was going so _slowly_ ….she could feel the cool leather gloves brushing against her newly-bared skin, just before he undid each button, and she was painfully aware of how hard her nipples were getting, the wetness gathering between her thighs….

Three more buttons, and then he’d be able to push her blouse out of the way….he could smell her arousal already, and felt himself hardening even more in response. Resisting the urge to rush things, the urge to tear her clothes right off and have her then and there. Instead, he contented himself with another button. The leather gloves made it a bit hard to work the buttons free, but that just made him even slower at it, which was exactly how he wanted things to go. Slow. For now.

Allison squirmed against her bonds, anticipation coiling in her belly, biting back the moan that wanted to slide out of her throat…trying to distract herself from this slow torment by deciding what ‘plea’ to use next.

Another button. Her exposed skin so pale, so soft, so pretty. Her hair coming loose from its pony-tail as her head moved from side-to-side, random strands draping themselves across his comforter. He had always found her beautiful (had even told her so, hadn’t he? “I hired you because you are extremely pretty.”), even when she’d been doing that distressing dressing-down routine….but she’d never been more beautiful to him than when she was totally _his_ ….Hell, even when _she’d_ been the one in control, in a way, she’d still been _his_ , even then…

Finally, he worked the last button free, and brushed the fabric out of the way, exposing more soft pale skin, offset by a sexy black lace bra. _Tasty,_ he thought. _Niiiiiice visual. It can stay….sorta._ He reached to pull the cups aside to bare her breasts, when she said, “No, _please_ , don’t!”

“Quiet!” he snarled, changing the pull to a rough shove, forcing the lace away so he could see the palest skin on her body, tinged golden by the dim lighting, nipples tight and dark.

She was breathing faster, chest rising and falling, waiting to feel his hands or mouth on her, but instead he turned his attention to her skirt, slowly drawing it up her legs, letting it bunch around her waist.

She squirmed and whimpered, as if she was afraid, but it was arousal and need giving itself voice. The feel of the cool leather gloves, caressing her legs as the skirt was inched up out of the way, the sound of his breathing (not as fast as her own, but still faster than usual), the tingle between her thighs and in her nipples….this time, she allowed herself to moan.

Once her skirt was all bunched up at the waist, House sat back, pausing to consider his next move. She was wearing black stay-up stockings, and that was pretty hot – he’d always been a sucker for a great pair of legs, even more than for nice ‘racks’ – so he decided to let those stay put. And those lacy little black panties were rather cute, as well….he leaned forward again, letting his gloved fingertips brush against her labia through the lace, watching her flinch a little and hearing her gasp at the unexpected touch…and then he shoved the thin, damp fabric to the side….and pulled his hands away again. And _waited_.

Allison tested her bonds. There was no way she could escape, but it gave her something to do while waiting to see what Greg would do next…

She felt cool leather and pressure against her nipples as he started tweaking them, slow agonizing tugs that made another moan work its way out of her throat. Removing his fingers completely from her skin between each tweak and pausing, just to get that shock of renewed contact every time he did it again.

He grinned again, watching her writhe, hearing the involuntary sounds she was making. He slid his gloved hands around her, cupping her breasts entirely in his large hands, squeezing her nipples between two fingers on each hand…the one drawback to wearing gloves was that of course he couldn’t feel the softness or warmth of her skin, but he knew the leather on her flesh was only going to add an extra dimension to the sensations she was experiencing, and he figured that was worth a little loss of connection and sensation on his part.

Forgetting herself and her ‘unwilling victim’ role for a moment, she arched her back, pressing her breasts harder against Greg’s hands…just about to beg him for more, before she remembered that she was supposed to be ‘resisting’ him.

He chuckled again, releasing her. “Very hot. And I do believe someone’s _enjoying_ this. Your man must not be doing a very good job of satisfying you, if it takes some stranger to get you this _excited_ …”

He had ordered her not to speak, but she wasn’t going to let a veiled self-directed insult like that go unanswered…and besides, she was a little curious about what exactly he meant by ‘punishment’. He’d promised never to _hurt_ her, so…

She sat up as much as she could, bracing herself on her bound hands. “ _Bastard_.” she spat at him. “He does an _excellent_ job. He’s everything I could ever want. You’re not even a _quarter_ the man he is.”

As much as it thrilled him to hear that – he had no doubt that was the truth, even within the context of this illusion they were acting out – he’d made her a promise, hadn’t he? “I told you to SHUT UP. _And_ not to move. I _warned_ you…and now, you’re gonna _pay_ …” He shoved his excitement and ever-increasing arousal to the back of his awareness for the moment, making Alli his entire focus. He didn’t want to botch this…

She was still sitting up, so he levered himself back up to his feet, leaned carefully against the edge of the bed, and then grabbed her shoulders and forced her back down onto the bed….he then seized her knees, pulling her legs up until he could grasp her bound ankles, and then pulled her legs straight up in the air, exposing her pretty little ass, still framed by those sexy black panties…Here _goes nothing_ , he thought, taking a deep breath.

She hadn’t been all that startled when Greg had pushed her back down, but when he grabbed her legs and lifted them, she tensed a little, not sure what he had planned. And then she cried out in shock as he spanked her twice, a hard slap on each buttock…

For a moment, her flesh stung, and she could feel her eyes tearing behind the blindfold…but then the sting turned into a warm tingle, and she could feel herself getting even more moist…and hadn’t she invited this, after all, by giving him those swats on the rump right at work? Of course, this wasn’t quite how she might have expected him to work spanking into their sexual activities, but…

House was watching her face, and saw her jaw relax as her arousal changed the pain to pleasure, felt the muscles in her legs loosening. _Lookin’ good_ , he thought. He let her legs down again, knees hooking over the edge of the bed once more, and then resumed his seat on the chair before his good left leg gave out under the strain of holding all his body weight up…

“Disobey me again, little girl, and you’ll get a lot more than two swats. I’ll see to it that you won’t be able to sit down for a _week_.” Again, making sure that if she truly wanted him to hurt her, she’d have to _earn_ it…

She was breathing fast, sweat glistening on her skin, and even in the dim light, he could see how slick and wet her sex was. _Well, that_ was _next on my list, after all,_ he thought.

Allison jumped and gasped out loud when she felt Greg’s hands on her, between her legs, pushing her labia apart…he was being rougher with her than he’d been during any of their previous encounters, but by being forceful, the sensations were much stronger than usual, and she was loving every minute…

He didn’t do anything for a moment, just holding her open, exposing her wet folds and swollen clit to his gaze and the cool air in the room… “So lovely. And so _very_ wet.” he growled. 

Allison moaned, throwing her head back, as Greg pushed one leather-clad thumb into her entrance, his fingers still holding her wide open. Moving slowly, teasingly inside her.

He was getting so hard, he didn’t know if he could keep from exploding inside his own jeans….he licked at his upper lip, feeling/tasting the wool of the ski mask, the sweat that had beaded up on his own skin….wanting to taste _her_ , but holding back for the moment. He wanted to watch her squirming some more, first, from his current vantage point. The view was just too good to pass up…

He left his thumb inside her, beginning to rub the fingertips of his other hand firmly over her clit. She gasped and twisted against her bonds, _wanting_ that contact, even as the sheer intensity of it made her want to pull away…although of course he wasn’t letting her, his good leg wrapped around one of hers and helping to keep her pinned in place on the bed…

The leather was smooth against her aching flesh, slippery with her fluids, and she could feel herself tightening up around the thumb Greg still had inside her, as his fingertips moved in circles against the seat of her pleasure…sometimes slow, sometimes fast….

Tiring of this, House switched tactics, pulling his thumb out of her, and then using one hand to hold her lips wide apart…after pausing a few moments, again tormenting his prey with the lull, he began to rapidly flick the side of the index finger of his free hand across her clit, getting an immediate reaction.

It felt like she’d lost all control of herself, crying out incoherently and straining against her bonds…and as he continued torturing her clit, the pleasure built up into a peak of volcanic proportions in her belly and between her thighs, and she gave a short sharp cry as she climaxed all over her lover’s gloved fingers…

House watched Alli lose control, and couldn’t take it any longer – he _had_ to taste her, to savour the juices of her orgasm. He stopped teasing her clit and brought that hand up to his face, rolling the bottom of the ski mask up until it was bunched up just under his eyes – he didn’t need to see, but he did need to taste her, to _breathe_ her in…and then he leaned down until he could put his mouth right against her quivering flesh. It flashed through his mind briefly that he could just take the whole mask off – she was blindfolded, she couldn’t see him, after all – but this was more ‘in-character’…

Still quaking in the aftermath of her orgasm, Alli groaned helplessly as she felt House’s mouth on her, the roughness of the ski mask and his stubble almost too much for her to take – she was always a little extra-sensitive after she climaxed, and this time was no exception. But Greg was being gentle, all of a sudden, his tongue moving in slow soft strokes along her entrance, noisily sucking her juices into his mouth…

He avoided her clit for now, knowing it would be too much for her so soon after coming, and just concentrated on the flavour and scent of her, lapping up her juices, and then moving his tongue into her in short pushes, tasting her inside as well as out, feeling the soft hot flesh against his tongue…as she calmed down, he turned his head to the side, wrapping his mouth around her inner and outer labia, and then sweeping his tongue between the folds, gathering up any nectar he had missed…and then switching to the other side.

She felt him push his tongue back inside her, moving it slowly in and out, then pulling out completely to circle her opening, and then pushing back into her again…she relaxed her muscles against her bonds, almost unconsciously pushing herself harder against his mouth, marveling as always at how amazing it was to be able to lie there and enjoy, to not have to do anything but _experience_ …

He thought she might be ready to be ‘pushed’ into another orgasm, so he pulled his tongue out of her again, pausing to greedily suck the last of her inner taste from his tongue, and then spread her labia wide with his hands again.

All too soon, he was ‘tormenting’ her again, holding her wide open while he flicked his tongue over her, focusing on her clit for a few intense moments, and then when her cries reached a crescendo, moving to flick his tongue gently against other spots – her moist inner lips, the edges of her outer lips, around the entrance to her body….but he kept coming back to her clit, and finally he settled there, flicking her mercilessly with his tongue, until she was again breaking apart…

She was completely limp, warm and sweaty, under him, and seemed to be in another world – ‘flying’, as they said – so he took the opportunity to change things up a bit while she was incapacitated. He rolled the ski mask back into place, relishing how the fabric trapped her honeyed scent inside and against his face, and then stood up slowly, gripping the chairback for support as he rolled her carefully onto her side and untied her wrists…he pushed her onto her back again, and quickly stripped off her blouse and bra, pausing to massage the pale red marks the bonds had left on her, and to flex her elbows and move her shoulders…she was stirring, so he hurriedly put her on her side again and retied her, and then sat back on the chair, pulling her legs up to unbind them, and then stripping off her panties and skirt. He still left the stockings in place, though.

Coming fully back to the present just as Greg was stripping her lower half, she felt a muted throb from her buttocks as he pulled her skirt and panties down. She remembered the quick flash of pain, and then the sexy _heat_ after he’d struck her, and she realized suddenly that she wanted more of that, right _now_ , that she wanted to feel that mix of pain and pleasure…wasn’t that, after all, why she’d done what she had at PPTH?

She was still blindfolded and her hands were bound, but she figured she could put up a bit of a struggle, so before he could bind her feet again, she pulled them up off the floor and braced them on the bed, shoving herself away from him and towards the headboard. “Leave me alone!” she yelled. “Haven’t you done enough, you heartless bastard?!”

House grinned again. She _did_ want more spanking. Well, it was always best to give a woman what she wanted, so…

He could be astonishingly fast – for a cripple – when he wanted to be, and so she hadn’t even made it to the headboard when she felt his hand close tightly around one of her ankles.

Holding onto the bed for support, House tugged her back towards him, while she struggled half-heartedly and pretended to be crying behind her blindfold. “No, I _haven’t_ done enough. We’re just getting _started_.”

When he had her back at the edge of the bed, he grabbed the ankle rope and retied her feet, this time looping the rope a couple times around each ankle, with about two handspans of slack in between, effectively hobbling her. Then he pulled the blindfold off of her face, and grabbed her by the chin again, forcing her to look up at him. _Nope, she wasn’t really crying. Good_.

“It’s too bad for you that you’re a slow learner, little girl. I did tell you what would happen if you tried to escape. _Didn’t_ I?”

The dim light was shining on his face, this time, and she could see his blue eyes – their color muted by the dimness – watching her intently from inside the mask, but she couldn’t meet his gaze for very long.

“Fortunately for you, I’ve always had a weakness for pretty little girls,” he growled, letting his burning gaze sweep over her naked flesh. “So I’ll cut you a little slack. You’ll be able to sit down when I’m through with you…but you’ll _remember_ me for a little while. Oh, _yes_.” Just to reassure her that he wasn't going to hurt her _that_ much.

He berated himself again for telling her that first night that he wouldn't _hurt_ her, that he wasn't into pain. Well, he would never _harm_ her, but hurting her - a little - through spanking - well, that was _different_. Still, that first time, if he'd promised not to harm her, but that he might still _hurt_ her, would she have understood the distinction? Would she still have agreed to give over control of herself to him? He shoved his doubts to the back of his mind. He had other things - more pleasurable things – to focus on right now.

He grabbed her shoulders and hauled her up onto her feet, and then sat down on the edge of the bed himself. He then grasped her by the nearest elbow and pulled her down until she was lying over his lap, head and breasts dangling over one side, and her bare ass and legs over the other. He gritted his teeth, shifting her around slightly, until most of her weight was off his bad thigh.

Allison was painfully aware of how vulnerable she was, lying exposed over Greg’s lap like this. Her knees off the floor, her feet bound, her ass sticking up in the air, her breasts and hair swinging slightly with her breathing, her heartbeat…she was starting to shake again, beginning to wonder if this had been the best idea…

He touched her and she jumped, nerves all on edge, but he merely ran his gloved hands over her, slow caresses along her thighs and ass, her back, her shoulders and neck, lifting handfuls of her long dark auburn hair and letting the strands slide through his fingers…but he avoided touching her more sensitive regions…at least, for the moment.

Without any warning, he wrapped his right hand firmly around her bound wrists, and then brought his other hand down sharply onto her exposed cheeks.

Allison cried out, jerking away, and House grit his teeth again as her weight shifted against his bad leg. Still, why should she be the only one to feel pain? Besides, he’d rather have the pain of her squirming in his lap then the usual things that caused his leg pain…this was an infinitely more _pleasant_ way to suffer. He administered two more hard slaps, again giving one to each cheek, watching the pale skin flush a rosy pink.

Allison moaned, this time, not aware that she was pushing her clit against House’s leg, only concentrating on the sensations, as the sting once again mellowed into a warm tingling glow…

She was squirming again, breathing hard and moaning, her damp skin glistening. _So beautiful in her surrender, as always._ Two more spanks,slightly harder than the previous ones, and aimed a little higher on each cheek. Listening to her gasping moans, feeling her press her sex against him harder and harder.

He released her wrists and found her nipples, milking them firmly as he delivered four more blows in a slow, measured succession, the pain in his thigh that her movements caused _nothing_ compared to the pleasure he was getting from this. He didn’t think he’d ever been so hard in his life….

Her hips were moving insistently against his good leg, her nipples and ass aching, but for different reasons, and yet another kind of ache between her legs…when he ordered her to spread them, she didn’t hesitate, just separated her thighs as much as her ankle rope would allow. She felt his hand leave her nipples, but before she could bemoan its loss, his left hand was sliding down her ass and nestling itself between her drenched folds.

She gasped as his right hand squeezed one of her buttocks, _hard_ , but it didn’t hurt, the motion of his fingers, rubbing back and forth over the hard bead of her clit, turning everything into pleasure. She was no longer aware of the room around them, of indeed anything other than Greg’s lap, the hot hardness of him that she could feel even through his jeans, the blood rushing to her head as she felt the thumb of his left hand pushing inside her again, while his fingertips relentlessly massaged her clit back and forth…

He could feel her muscles tightening, could practically feel her racing pulse even through the gloves, and although he didn’t want her to come, yet, he couldn’t resist pushing just a little further….so he started to move his thumb in and out, and to spank her – lightly, this time – with his right hand in time with his strokes…and all the while, continuing to work against her clit…

She pushed back against his hands, forgetting her ‘role’, begging him, “Oh _please_ , Greg!”Everything in her mind scattered to the four winds, except for the pleasure that was threatening to overtake her again…

He waited until he was sure that her climax was imminent, and then he stopped. His right hand trapping her wrists again, pinning her still against his lap, his left hand completely immobile inside her, fingers no longer pressuring her clit. She moaned and begged him not to stop, but as difficult as it was, he didn’t give in to her pleas. Not yet. Instead, he enjoyed the arrhythmic pulses of her inner walls, which he could feel even through the gloves, the feel of her body heaving and shuddering…

His thigh was _really_ starting to ache, which meant he’d either have to break role and pop a Vicodin – or two - or he’d have to bring the proceedings to a rapid close. He decided on the latter, but couldn’t resist another verbal tease. “’Greg’, huh? Is that your boyfriend’s name? Be sure and tell him, when you see him later, how much you _liked_ this, getting spanked and fucked _raw_ by a complete stranger…bet he’d appreciate a few _pointers_.”

Emboldened by her denied orgasm, she shot back at him. “You haven’t ‘fucked’ me, yet.”

“No? I’ll _get on_ that right now, then.” Pulling her up off his lap, and getting up himself (wincing inwardly as his thigh started to throb mercilessly). Pushing her in front of him, her slowed by the hobble, him by the limp, until he had her standing by the bed next to the nighttable. Unbinding her hands and then retying them again in front of her. Making her bend over the edge of the bed, face and shoulders against the mattress, legs spread as much as the hobble allowed, ass and vagina exposed and waiting for him.

He wasted no time unzipping himself – he wasn’t wearing underwear, so he didn’t have to worry about shoving _that_ out of the way, as well – and rummaging in the bedside table for a condom…he’d secretly bought a box of ribbed-and-studded condoms, and he decided to try one now…trying simultaneously to roll it on, and to drink in the sight of his lover’s ‘naughty bits’, poised and slick and ready…

Finally prepared – damn those leather gloves – he limped heavily forward, swallowing a curse at the rapidly worsening pain in his thigh, and seized Alli’s hips tightly. Positioning her just the way he wanted, and then sliding into her in one _very_ slow deep stroke.

The rush of sensation as he sank gradually into her stole her breath away…the feeling of her insides stretching around his hugeness, how hard and hot he felt…every time she thought she’d reached the pinnacle of sensation, he found some other one to lead her to…

When he was finally fully inside of her, he paused, shifting as much weight to his good leg as he could, wishing that he’d hidden his cane in here instead. Oh well, he’d just have to drown the pain with pure pleasure…he began to thrust rapidly in and out of her welcoming body.

Every hard thrust impacted against her womb, sending ripples of delight through her, his balls whiplashing against her clit with every stroke, and soon his gasps were starting to tear through the room, adding to the litany of her own cries.

The feel of her around him was, as always, better than Scotch, better than music, better than Vicodin, better, even, than solving his Diagnostic Medicine cases, and he suddenly decided to drop the role. He yanked the ski mask off his face and tore the gloves off his hands, sighing with pleasure when he could finally touch her hot slippery skin directly, running his hands over her back and hips and trailing his fingertips gently over her still rosy asscheeks…

She felt his hands – his skin – on her for the first time that evening, and almost went over the edge just from that re-connection between them…and then she felt him sliding one hand around her hips, the heel of his hand applying steady pressure against her raw clit, and there was no stopping her climax, the spasms beginning inside her almost before she knew what was happening, and she gave in to Greg one last time that night, calling his name as she sank to the bottom of the abyss…

When he felt her orgasming around him, he couldn’t stop himself, gasping out “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, little girl?”, not getting – or expecting – an answer, as he gave up the reins on his own control, exploding deep inside her, all his pain washed away in the tide of pleasure…

He wanted to stay in her forever, but his shrieking leg wouldn’t let him. He pulled himself out, and sat heavily on the bed next to her. Reaching over to stroke his fingers though her hair as her breathing slowed, taking her wrists in his hands and releasing the bindings, again rubbing at the marks the rope had left in her flesh. The marks would be gone by the morning, as would the redness of her buttocks, he was sure of it.

He stripped off his sweat-soaked tee shirt, tossing it across the room, and then coaxed her up onto the bed so he could release her feet. He stripped off his shoes and socks and jeans, tossing them away as well, and then sat on the edge of the bed again, reaching over to gently remove the stockings from Alli’s legs. Pausing to massage her ankles. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, but other needs had to be met first, so he limped slowly over to his home office, grabbing his cane before anything else, and then went to the bathroom to toss out the condom and clean himself off.

Back in the bedroom, he dry-swallowed 2 Vicodins, and then started to turn down the bed, getting Alli to shift around so he could still accomplish the task without making her get up. Then he limped over to the kitchen. They hadn’t eaten dinner, but he had expected that they’d get so wound up in the scene that it’d be late before they were through, so he’d prepared a little snack in advance, that they could consume easily in bed before dropping off to sleep. He had no desire to be woken in the middle of the night by an angrily growling stomach! He _was_ an old fart, and pulling off a scene like this one was quite the drain on one’s energy reserves, after all.

He grabbed a tray and hauled everything laboriously back to the bedroom, and they spent some minutes consuming their food – _dinner in bed is just as much fun as breakfast in bed_ , he thought – although poor Alli was so drained that she could barely keep her eyes open as she nibbled. He was very glad when he could finally put the tray aside, sliding under the covers and pulling her into his arms, pressing soft kisses against her face and hair.

Greg was holding her close, kissing her, and she snuggled carefully against him, feeling warm and sated and safe…and _loved_. “I love you, Greg.” she whispered drowsily.

He _wanted_ to answer her, wanted to say he loved her back. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t make his mouth form the dreaded words. Instead, his mind wandered to something safer. He compared the ending of the scene that they had just finished, with the one he had originally planned out. He had _planned_ on bringing them to mutual orgasm, and then leaving her tied up on the bed, so that he could come in as ‘himself’ a few minutes later and pretend to be all shocked and angry at her ‘attacker’….but overall, he liked this better. And so did his leg, come to think of it.

Alli was already asleep, breathing slowly and deeply in his arms, and he reflected again – now that she was asleep and there was no self-inflicted pressure – on his inability to tell her he loved her. _Coward,_ he said to himself. _You’ve_ always _been cowardly that way. The first and last time you said that to Stacy, was when you were going into that damn chemically-induced coma…too chicken to say the words unless you’re on your deathbed, unless you think there’s a chance you might not wake up. Stacy deserved more, before that business with your leg, but of course it’s too late for that. Doesn’t_ Alli _also deserve more?_

Despite his exhaustion, sleep was a long time coming.

 

 

The next morning, Allison woke and stretched like a cat, yawning loudly, and rolled over in bed, to find herself face-to-face with Greg. _Mr. Big Badass Kidnapper/Rapist,_ she thought inwardly, grinning at him.

She was smiling, which was a _good_ sign, but he was still going to check out the ‘lay of the land’ (snerk!), as it were. “Looks like I didn’t traumatize you too badly, then, if you can still flash your teeth at me like that.” he said.

“No. You gave me a good scare at the beginning, but you made up for it later….oh boy, did you _ever_.” She snuggled up close to him again, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

_Hm._ “And I didn’t hurt you too badly? I know I promised that first night that I’d never hurt you, but….those little smacks you gave me at work-“

“I know. And I don’t think _I_ even knew why I did it, at the time. But yeah, I was curious. And it _did_ hurt, but in a _good_ way.” She knew why he was asking all these questions, and she didn’t want him to doubt himself or his skills as her dom, as her lover. “I _loved_ what we did last night, Greg.” And then she paraphrased her words from last night. “You’re everything I could ever want.”

He shook his head slightly. He knew she felt that way, and on some level, he just didn’t get it…but he wasn’t going to question it, either. Or at least, not out loud and not to her face. Instead, he tried again to say he loved her…but couldn’t. Again. So he did what came more easily – he kissed her deeply, hugged her tightly against him, and then rolled out of bed, grabbing his cane and limping towards the bathroom.

“Pancakes or French Toast?” he called back over his shoulder at her.


	4. When Nightmare Becomes Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stacy arrives on the scene with her sick hubby, and effects are immediately felt in House and Cameron’s relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: There’s a section in the ‘Nightmare’ part of this fic that contains rather graphic violent images. Anyone who has ever been physically or sexually assaulted in the past may want to give that particular section a pass…it won’t affect the continuity of the rest of the fic if you don’t. **
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own House and Cam and Stacy…no, wait, you mean I don’t? Waaaaaaah!  
> Special thanks: Kudos to katakombs and no1_antielitist, for helping me to elevate this above the level of just, well…porn.  
> Author’s note: Still AU, and spoilery for House S1.

Prologue

A few weeks passed. Greg and Allison had settled into a comfortable routine. At work, nothing had changed and no one seemed the wiser. House was still a bastard to all three of his Ducklings (even the one that he was tying up and having sex with), still calling them out when they made mistakes, still being an arrogant jerk. Wilson suspected something, though, that much was clear to Greg, although Wilson hadn’t confronted him yet.

In any case, somehow, at the end of the day, he and Alli would wind up together, usually at his place. He was still a sarcastic bastard, but she would laugh it off. He was still not big on talking about feelings, but Alli seemed content. They ate dinner and watched TV and made love and had bondage scenes that would probably scare Chase into an aneurysm...

It all felt so natural, so effortless, that Greg was rather taken by surprise when he was sitting in his office one day, waiting for the Ducklings to return with some test results, and he realized that he was happy. Or at least, content. When had that happened? He sat there for a few moments, all other thought processes arrested, actually wondering if this was a good thing. Being alone could suck, sometimes, but at least you had nothing to lose. You couldn’t be betrayed, couldn’t be hurt by your partner.

The Ducklings arrived with their test results, thankfully breaking him out of his ruminations...but the strange feeling of apprehension persisted, despite his efforts to derail that train of thought. _Stop being stupid,_ he told himself. _Alli_ isn’t _Stacy. We’ve already established that. So grow up and stop looking for things to agonize over._

__

 

*~*~*

Damned Cuddy and her damned med students. She’d stuck him with some damned class to teach, and he was neither prepared nor interested. Then only saving grace was that he was spared clinic work, but...would this really be less of a waste of his time? At least clinic patients could occasionally be interesting, could _occasionally_ give him insights into how to deal with his diagnostic medicine cases...

Brenda at the clinic reception desk was trying to get his attention. “Dr. House, there’s a patient-”

_ Time to make this damned class pay off. _ “I’m outta here. Take it up with Cuddy.”

That was when the familiar voice spoke behind him. The voice he had hoped never to hear again. The voice that made ten kinds of hate and ten kinds of love whirl inside his head like some kind of insane merry-go-round. “Greg.”

He turned around, and there she was. Stacy. _His_ Stacy. Or, perhaps more accurately, _not_ his Stacy, anymore. A thousand cutting remarks flooded his throat. _Hey yourself, Ice Queen. Come to offer me a new thigh?_ Or maybe: _Well, look who came crawling back into_ _ Princeton _ _. Stripping not meeting your financial needs anymore?  _ Maybe even: _I have a new girl now. Maybe you heard. She’s much prettier and younger than you, and doesn’t make a habit of backstabbing men while they’re comatose._ But he said none of those things, just “Hi, Stacy.”

He had never been good at reading people’s emotions, and this time was no exception. She looked...expectant, sad, glad, and nervous, all at the same time. “How’re you doing?” she asked him.

Another thousand responses tried to come to the fore, but he made an effort to keep things light. Detached. Don’t let her know how freaked out her sudden appearance was making him feel. _First, the self-doubts this morning, and now_ this. “How am I doing?  Well, the last five years have been like… you ever see those “Girls Gone Wild” videos?” _Except it’s only one girl. One girl, and several piles of rope._

She smiled, a little. “Your life’s been like that, or your life’s been spent watching them? I have missed you.”

_ God, don’t tell me she’s suddenly decided that she wants me back. _ “Is that why you’re here?” Not sure that he really wanted to hear her answer. 

But she shook her head. “I need your help.” And then she was handing him some x-rays. He bit back a sharp retort - _You take my thigh, and then you come running to me to_ help _you?_ \- his interest already piqued. He limped over to a nearby desk to take a look. “Who am I looking at?”  

“My husband.” she replied. And the mix of sadness and relief he felt threatened to drown him. He forced it away. 

“Who is suffering abdominal pain and fainting spells. No sign of tumors, no vasculitis. Could be indigestion, or maybe a kidney stone. A little one, can pack a lot of wallop.” _Just take your husband and_ go. _I don’t need you spoiling my happiness again...I can do that all on my own, thank you very much, Stacy._  

She seemed even more sad. “Did you think I wasn’t going to get married?”

_ No, I was hoping that you’d spend the rest of your days alone and lonely and watching period romances on TV while knocking back bottle after bottle of cheap vino. _ “Not to someone so poorly endowed. This guy’s pancreas is pathetic.” Already tiring of this, House started to walk away. He had a class to teach. Better than shooting the shit with the woman that ruined his life.

But she was as stubborn as him. “There is no kidney stone, no indigestion.  Three hospitals, five doctors, not one of them found anything.”

 “Well, maybe there’s nothing to be found.” _Get the Hell away, Stacy, I don’t want to deal with you right now. You and the new hubby._  

Stacy spoke sarcastically. “Right, you suddenly trust doctors, love puppies and long walks in the rain.”

He felt suddenly angry. How dare she come and drop this on him? “The walks are out.” he said curtly, hoping to hit her guilt button. 

But instead, she grabbed his arm. “I was around you long enough to know when something’s not right.  Mark’s had personality changes, he’s acting strange, disconnected…” 

_ Let go of me. _ “Interesting. It means there’s either a neurological component or-” he couldn’t resist - “he’s having an affair.”

“No affair, no nothing! He’s sick! I know you’re not too busy; you avoid work like the plague. Unless it actually _is_ the plague….I’m asking you a _favor_.”

_ This,  _ he told himself, _is what comes of letting someone get too close to you. They know you too well._ And then a really demonic inner voice added: _See? This is what will happen if you let Alli all the way in. Is that what you_ really _want?_

He decided to tell Stacy the truth - the _whole_ truth - in the hope that she’d give up and _go_. ”I’m not too busy, but I’m not sure I want him to live. It’s good seeing you again.” And then he limped off to teach the class.

At least she didn’t try to grab him or follow him, this time.

*~*~*

 

  


He did his class. He hadn’t intended to present his own case, but seeing Stacy had evidently brought it all to the forefront of his mind, so he just decided to go with it.

He’d snapped at Alli when she’d jumped into the fray. Partly because she was wrecking his case presentation - no one at the time had thought of muscle death, ergo no one had bothered to examine that possibility, and thus no point in bringing it up. Even though he couldn’t help thinking that Alli had effectively ‘saved’ him during the lecture. He’d been ready to whup those hapless med students with his cane, and she’d jumped in and calmed him down. She’d brought him back to reality. And yet, he couldn’t help wondering: would she have come up with the muscle death diagnosis had _she_ been his doctor back then, and saved his leg? Or had she only thought of it now because they were a part of each other’s lives, and thus his own muscle death could never be far from her mind? But his other reason for snapping at Alli had been because he suddenly wanted to be left alone - no Alli, no Stacy, no Cuddy, no _Wilson_ , even. He wanted some time to sort out his thoughts. Maybe even presenting his own case had been part of that, trying to remind himself what Stacy’s duplicity had cost him. But would this really insulate him from Stacy, if he did help her and her new man? Or would he just wind up damaging his relationship with Alli? 

And so he was pissed at himself for taking his anger and frustration out on Alli, who didn’t deserve it. Although he supposed she was used to it by now. 

He also wasn’t too keen on the fact that his entire team had just been witness to his personal history. Wilson and Cuddy already knew, and now that Alli had sat in on the class and witnessed his case, this saved him from having to eventually rehash that painful part of his history with her. But having Chase and Foreman listening in, as well? 

Still, he did his job. He presented his case, he taught those hapless (useless) med students a thing or two, and even got to snark at Cuddy, the author of his misery (in many senses of the word). And then he headed off to his office. 

He wanted to go home, wanted to see Alli and apologize and take comfort - if he could - in her arms. But Stacy had come to him for help, and his warring emotions wouldn’t leave him alone. And he wanted peace and quiet in his own mind, before he left the hospital.

Should he just let sleeping dogs lie, and _not_ help Stacy? But wouldn’t that prove to her just how much she’d gotten to him, how much she’d crippled him? If he saved her hubby and let them get on with their lives, wouldn’t that make him a hero? More, wouldn’t that be the _right_ thing to do? (As Alli herself had said, he did things because they were _right_ ). Besides, it was a puzzle, and he loved nothing more than a good puzzle…except, of course, for tying Alli up and ‘tormenting’ her until she screamed his name and came hard. But the fact remained, he’d become crippled for life as a result of _no one_ trying to solve the puzzle of his leg pain, and now if he ignored Stacy’s case, wouldn’t that make House no better than the doctors that had ignored _him_ in the early days of the infarction?

But if he did try to help her, did he really want to succeed? He knew that he wanted her to pay, to suffer. Could he really trust himself to do right by her husband, when that could be a potential way to make her hurt? And although he hated her, he _still_ loved her, in a way, too. How would Alli react?  And was there really a possibility that he’d fall back in love with Stacy, just from being around her again?

But what finally convinced him, was the thought that the best revenge might be to show Stacy that he’d moved on. And in some ways, he _had_. He was no longer at home, sitting in the dark and playing piano and knocking back Scotch and Vicodin in equal measures. He was a Department Head, saving patients’ lives. He had a new woman in his life, and they got along well. _Very_ well. Better than he might ever have anticipated. He’d even go so far as to think that he _loved_ Alli...even if he was unable to say the words out loud. And if he took Stacy’s case, helped her husband, and sent her on her way, wouldn’t that show her how he’d healed himself (doctor, heal thyself) and overcome the damage she’d caused him?

And so he finally picked up his cell phone and left a message on her machine. “Stacy, it’s Greg.  I’ve got an opening for ten tomorrow morning. Make sure your husband isn’t late.” 

_ There,  _ that’s _taken care of. Now to pack up and head home..._

*~*~*

 

  
Allison made it home - Greg’s home - before he did. Which gave her plenty of time to wonder what was wrong. For starters, that morning at PPTH, he’d been quieter than usual. She’d caught him watching her a few times, which wasn’t itself all that unusual, but the way his eyes had jerked away when she’d looked up to meet his gaze had been _odd_.

He’d disappeared soon after lunch, which had caused some consternation among herself and her fellow Ducklings, as they had no cases to occupy them at the moment. Foreman had just looked irritated and picked up his copy of The Da Vinci Code, and Chase had started tackling a new crossword puzzle. Allison had felt restless, though, after Greg’s strange behaviour that morning, and so she poked around the Clinic until Brenda told her that House was teaching a class.

Curious, she’d snuck in the back. And once it became evident to her that he was talking about his own case, his own _leg_ , she hadn’t been able to resist butting in. His attempt to discount her diagnosis didn’t faze her all that much - that was, after all, typical of him at work - and besides, she was too busy trying to take in all this new information about her boyfriend and boss. 

She wasn’t the one who told Eric and Chase what was going on - in fact, she suspected Wilson had been involved - but once they showed up, she kept her mouth shut and her expression interested but detached. If she got too emotional, they might suspect something, and she didn’t want to ‘out’ her relationship with Greg to the rest of the team, before Greg was ready.

Finally, he’d finished the class, snarking at Cuddy as usual on his way out. And Allison hadn’t seen him since, finally leaving at 5pm when it became evident that there were still no cases pending.

And so here she was, cooling her heels on Greg’s couch, wondering when/if he’d be home, wondering if she should call him....and then she heard his key in the lock.

She resisted the urge to jump to her feet and race to the door. But her heart was going faster than she would have liked it to, as he opened the door and limped in, looking even more drawn and haggard than usual. “Tough day?” she asked softly.

He jumped a little, and she realized he hadn’t registered her presence, not until she had spoken. “Yeah.” There was a pause, while he sat down heavily on the couch next to her, not meeting her eyes as he dumped his jacket and blazer over the arm of the couch, and then took off his sneakers. Finally, he glanced up at her as he rolled up the sleeves of his blue button-down shirt.

She moved closer to his side, reaching out to massage his shoulders. He sighed and let his head drop, eyes closed, and she felt him gradually relaxing under her hands. He took one of her hands then, and kissed the back of it lightly, and then urged her to put her feet (carefully) on his lap, so he could return the massage.

She let her head loll back against the armrest of the couch, letting her own eyes close and her mind wander, until Greg said, “Alli.”

She opened her eyes to find him fixing her with that intent look she knew so well, but then he dropped his gaze back to her feet, as if embarrassed.

“I’m...sorry I snapped at you. In the diagnostic class today. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s OK. That must have been difficult for you, to talk about your own experiences. But I think the students found it very valuable. _I_ certainly would have, if I’d heard anything like that in my own med school days.” Resisting the urge to ask him why he’d chosen his own case - the urge to ask him about his odd pensive behaviour that morning, about the way he’d disappeared right after the class.

He was silent again, but she knew by now that the best way to get something out of him was to wait. And her strategy was rewarded when he finally answered, “I didn’t do it for _them_. I did it for _me_. I saw....” He paused for another interminable moment, still looking down at Alli’s foot in his hands, and then continued. “I saw Stacy at PPTH today.” 

The name didn’t mean anything to Alli, as he hadn’t named any names while discussing his own case. And he must’ve remembered this, too, as he saw the confused expression on her face, clarifying. “ _Stacy_. The woman I used to live with. The woman who waited until I was in a chemically-induced coma to order a surgery that I hadn’t authorized and didn’t want.”

Her heart seemed to have stopped beating. The woman whose betrayal had crippled him, both in body and emotionally, there at PPTH? “What did she want?”

He sighed, carefully lifting her feet off his lap, and then grabbing his cane and getting back up to his feet, stalking over to his piano and the bottle of Vicodin on top of it. “She wanted me to treat her husband,” he said quietly back over his shoulder at her.

“That’s…. _cold_.” Allison said. Not sure if that was the right thing to say….or if there even _was_ a right thing to say. But that was the first reply that came to mind. And a reply seemed needed.

“It’s… _something_.” Greg said, but he didn’t elaborate.

Allison got up off the couch, walking over to him as he dry-swallowed Vicodin, as he started to absent-mindedly pick out notes on the piano here and there.

She hesitated, but could not resist asking, “What are you going to do?”

He said nothing for a moment or two, but then replied: “I’m going to help him. Or _try_ to help him.”

She nodded, although his back was to her and he didn’t see it. _Of course he will,_ she thought. _That’s what he_ does.

*~*~*

 

Later, they ate dinner, but it felt _strange_ to Allison. He was silent, pensive, and seemed a little sad. Her attempts to draw him into conversation were met with monosyllables and grunts, and she finally gave up. 

They watched a movie later, but she could tell that Greg wasn’t mentally in the room with her, and she started to feel angry. Stacy wasn’t even _here_ , and she was managing to ‘steal’ Greg (mentally, at least) away. And Greg hadn’t even started treating her husband yet!

But underneath the anger were two other, even worse, emotions. Jealousy and fear. Jealous of the hold Stacy seemed to have on Greg. Sure, he wasn’t usually very outgoing or warm or chatty, even when it was just Allison and himself alone at his place, but this degree of withdrawal was extreme even for _him_. What had this woman been to him, that he was still so hung up on her?

And then came the fear. Was his current behaviour a symptom that he still had feelings for Stacy? Despite what she had done? And if so, how could it impact his feelings for Allison?

Later on, she climbed into bed with the still-silent Greg. She hesitated, but decided to make a last-ditch effort to connect with him, to try and melt the sudden distance between them with love and warmth. She waited until he turned out the lights, and then shifted carefully over until she was against his left side. Reaching her hands under the sheets to caress him, finding his face carefully in the dark and kissing him.

But he was unresponsive under her hands – the first time that had _ever_ happened - and only sluggishly reacted to her kisses. And the seed of fear in her grew.

Still, she tried to push the fear aside, tried to touch him, to _arouse_ him (to assert her _claim_ on him?)…but after some moments, Greg took her hands and gently removed them from his body, cupping her hands in his, and gave her a firmer kiss as he eased her back onto her side of the bed.

“I’m sorry, Alli. I’m just….not in the mood right now. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

She wanted to say it was OK, that she understood. But it _wasn’t_ , and she _didn’t_. How many weeks of this crap did she have to look forward to, if Stacy’s husband’s case wasn’t solved quickly? Worse, did this spell the beginning of the end of her relationship with Greg?

She didn’t want to ask, but she _had_ to know. “You still love her, don’t you?” 

Silence reigned. 

And finally Greg said, “Yes, I do…but I… _hate_ her, too.”

Allison said nothing. What reply could be made to _that_? What did you say when your boyfriend admitted to having feelings for another woman? When he couldn’t hold a conversation with you, or bear your hands on him, once that woman had come back into his life?

“It’ll be okay, Alli. Go to sleep.” And he moved away from her, right to the edge of his side of the bed.

She wanted to believe it would be OK. She _did_. She rolled over and tried to sleep….tried to push the demons out of her head, to have faith in Greg…

*~*~*

** ** Nightmare  ** **

****

** WARNING! Graphic violent images….avoid if you might be triggered, and kindly skip ahead to the next section, ‘Reality’… **

****

Allison had no idea where she was. Eyes blurry, she could barely make out anything at first. It was dark, but she thought the walls around her were white. She seemed to be on a table, but she couldn’t move.

She blinked and shook her head, trying to get her vision to clear - trying to focus. What was going on? 

As her awareness increased, she realized she couldn’t move because she was tied down. Her wrists secured to the table somehow. Her legs propped up in some kind of....stirrups?....and also tied. She couldn’t see exactly how she was bound, as there was a sheet draped over her, covering her entire body and the table.

She was cold, and then realized why - under the sheet, she was naked. Starting to feel afraid, she debated whether she dared to call out for help.

Suddenly, light came streaming into the room, and Allison realized a door had been opened. By the light, she saw that she was in one of the PPTH exam rooms. But why was she naked? Why was she tied down?

The room darkened again, as a tall figure limped in, and closed the door behind it. The thumps on the floor, as the figure made its way toward her, fueled the realization that her visitor was none other than Greg. What was going on?

He turned on a small light in the corner, throwing the room into a mix of light and shadows, and then turned and moved slowly towards her.

“Greg,” she croaked, her voice, like her eyes, not wanting to cooperate. “What’s going on? Why am I tied down? Why am I here?”

He didn’t seem to have even registered that she’d spoken, just moved closer. The light fell half on his face, leaving the other half in shadow, and that’s when Allison saw the strange icy-cold expression on it. She’d never seen him look like that before, and she felt her fear ratchet up another notch.

“You hurt me, you bitch. Stupid _slut_.” His voice a low, rumbling growl. Like the time he had hidden in his own apartment, pretending to be a kidnapper/rapist, and had jumped her unexpectedly from the dark…except somehow, this was _light years_ away from that night. “And now, you’re going to pay. Now, you’re going to _hurt_.” One hand gripping the cane, he used the other to wrench the sheet off of her, throwing it onto the floor.

She could feel his eyes on her naked flesh, but it wasn’t arousing or exciting. It was _frightening_.

“Greg, _please_...”.

Again, he didn’t even seem to have heard what she said. He limped forward until he was standing right between her legs. “You’ll _pay_.” he repeated. 

He did something to her then, to her unprotected sex, that made her shriek in agony. She writhed against her bonds, begging him to stop, not understanding why he was hurting her, not even sure _how_ he was hurting her...

But it went on. Pain on top of more pain, until nothing but screams and whimpers came spilling from her lips. His laughter – _laughing_ at her agony – ringing in her ears. Why was he doing this to her? Why wasn’t _anyone_ coming to help her?

Her blurred eyes cleared enough to show her his face, his cruel, twisted smile, his clothing and skin spattered with her blood, and she felt her mind threatening to give way...

She didn’t know how long he tortured her for, but finally, she realized through the haze of pain and fear that he wasn’t just damaging her, wasn’t just destroying the part of her that made her female....he was _killing_ her....

Weak. She felt so weak. And there was nothing left but the red of her blood, and the pain, filling every part of her body and mind....she gave one last scream, wrenched out of lungs and throat, knowing that no one was going to come and save her, knowing that she was about to die at the hands of the man she loved....

*~*~*

** **

Reality

Allison jerked awake, her final scream echoing loudly in her ears. The room was dark and cool, and she struggled for a minute, convinced she was still tied down, still being hurt, but after a few moments, she realized it was only bedsheets, twisted and tangled around her limbs.

She stopped, putting her face in her sweaty palms, trying to slow her heart rate, her breathing…and then the hand fell on her shoulder and a voice – House’s voice – said, “Allison?”

The horror of the dream was still heavy on her, so much so that for a moment, the only thing she could think of was getting away, running from her torturer. She jerked away from his hand, trying to get off the bed, but her feet were still tangled in the sheets, and instead of getting away, she wound up hitting the hardwood floor with a painful jolt, crying out in panic and shock.

Behind her, House sounded pretty panicked, himself. “Alli!” There was the rustle of bedclothes as he struggled to come to her aid.

House had no clue what was going on. He’d been asleep one second, and the next, Alli had been screaming like one possessed. And when he’d tried to touch her, to comfort her, she’d gotten this look on her face of total terror, and fallen out of bed trying to get away from him. _What the_ Hell _?_ He shifted over until he was on her side of the bed – noting that the sheets were damp and cold with her sweat – and then swung his legs over the edge, swallowing a groan as his thigh gave a warning twinge. He wanted to reach for her, but held himself back, wanting to make sure she was awake so he wouldn’t scare her again. “Alli.” he said again, trying to coax her towards him.

The hard impact on the floor had jolted most of the residue of the nightmare from her head, but her legs, which had taken the brunt of the impact, ached, and her pulse and breathing were going alarmingly fast. She was naked and cold, and she could even feel tear-tracks on her cheeks. She let her hair fall over her face, not wanting Greg to see her like this, especially given his earlier silence and distance. “I’m fine.” she said, trying not to let the strain show in her voice.

Worry made his voice sharper than he wanted. “Yeah, it’s totally _usual_ for you to wake up at- “he glanced over at the clock radio, “-3:30 a.m., screaming blue murder and falling out of bed.”

_Damn him._ “I’m _fine_ , I told you. Go back to bed.” _Leave me to sort this out on my own._ It’s what he had been doing to her all night, anyways, so why not return the favour?

He shook his head. This wasn’t working. He tried a different tack. Softening his voice, he said, “No. Come back up here, let me help you. You must’ve given yourself a good whack on the floor, falling out of bed like that.”

She glanced up from under her hair at him, and saw the strange soft-yet-stubborn look on his face. A look which said: “I’m gonna wait all night until you give me what I want.” Sighing inwardly, she got up, moving slowly so as not to cause further pain to her traumatized legs. She got up on the bed, sitting next to him, and was a little startled at how quickly House put his arms around her, how tightly he was holding her.

_You’re such an_ asshole, he chided himself. _Your damned ex makes a reappearance in your life, and you shut out your girlfriend almost completely as a result. Grow a fucking backbone, Greggie._ He held Alli tightly, wanting to let her know without words that he loved her, that it was all OK, that Stacy’s presence didn’t change anything between them.

She was still sweaty, but he didn’t care, holding her close, listening to her breathing slow. He released her with one hand, so he could use it to check her legs, particularly her knees. She winced, but the skin wasn’t broken. _A little bruised_ , he thought. _That’s all._ Now came the hard part.

Alli was finally awake enough to accept Greg’s closeness without freaking out, without confusing dream-House with reality-House, so she didn’t try to pull away when he held her, when he touched her sore legs. And she vastly preferred the current, cuddly version of Greg that was holding her, to the cold almost-stranger she’d been with most of the night.

“That must’ve been one Hell of a nightmare,” he said, trying to sound casual, although he really wanted to know what was up. “If there isn’t a neighbour who’s calling the cops, I’d be damned surprised. You sounded like someone was trying to kill you.”

Alli stiffened at this last statement, drawing a little away from him. She did _not_ want to discuss this with him. 

“What was the dream about?” he asked her. Trying hard to be the supportive boyfriend, instead of the arrogant diagnostician. But she shook her head and stayed silent. “C’mon, honey, tell me. Tell me what scared you so bad.” _Because that’s what good partners do, they support each other_. Not _like what Stacy did._

He was wearing that stubborn expression again, and she knew that he wouldn’t let them go back to sleep until he had his answers. And since they had to get up and go to work in a few hours, she wearily decided just to tell him and get it over with.

“I was...I was in a room at PPTH. One of the exam rooms, I think.” she started, again tilting her head down so that her hair covered her face and blocked House’s view. “I had been drugged or something, my vision was all blurry. And I was....tied down. To one of the exam tables, except it had been set up like it was being used for an OB/GYN consult or something. And I was...”. She had to pause, to swallow. “I was naked. And then... _someone_ came into the room, and started hurting me.” _Maybe he won’t ask me_ who _was hurting me._ “They were hurting me really bad, and I was _screaming_. I couldn’t get free, I couldn’t stop them, and no one was coming to help me. And then I woke up.” No need to tell him that she’d dreamed she was being _murdered_.

A funny cold feeling had settled in the pit of House’s stomach. A hunch that she wasn’t telling him everything. Maybe it meant nothing that she’d jerked away from him in such terror...or maybe it meant more. “ _Who_ was hurting you, Alli?”

She said nothing, still hiding her face from him. So he reached out, sweeping her hair aside, taking her chin in his hand, and raising her face up. But she still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It was _me_ , wasn’t it?” He finally asked her, following his hunch. “ _I_ was the bastard in your dream.”

She still didn’t look at him. “Yeah.” she said, quietly, defeated. 

He released her chin, and she let her head drop again. No doubt he’d add this to whatever baggage he’d brought home with him this evening, and just be even more distant. _Just great_ , she thought.

“Do you really think I would do anything to hurt you? I promised that first night that I wouldn’t, remember?” he asked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized what an idiotic question that was. Hadn’t he _been_ hurting her, by shutting her out all night?

“Well, as I recall, you did _hurt_ me - as I recall, a certain someone dressed up like a kidnapper and spanked the Hell out of me - what do you call _that_?” She wanted to take it back as soon as she’d said it - she didn’t really mean it, she was just tired, disoriented from the dream, feeling isolated after the near-silent treatment from him all evening...

She was right. He’d broken his promise to her, hadn’t he? And that had been before Stacy had even arrived. And here he’d been worrying that Allison would somehow hurt _him_. More like the other way around. But he still tried, almost out of pure reflexm to defend himself. “There’s pain, and then, there’s _pain_ , Alli. And I did leave you an out... _two_ outs, as I recall. One, you had your safeword, and two, you didn’t have to try to escape me. I gave you fair warning. What _else_ could I have done?” God, he felt like crap. He had to be the suckiest partner on record.The sadness she heard in his voice made her want to reach out to him. She wasn’t ready to forgive him, yet, for the weirdness between them all evening, but it really hadn’t been fair of her at all to suggest that he was brutal enough to truly harm her physically. “I’m sorry, Greg, I didn’t mean that. I know you would never _really_ try to hurt me. And I liked the spanking. I did _ask_ for it, after all, in my indirect way.” She smiled at him, a little, hoping that would be enough, and that he’d let it go and let them get back to sleep, hoping that everything would look better in the morning.

She looked exhausted, and his guilt increased. “C’mon, let’s lie down.” Her side of the bed, as he shifted himself along it, was still cold and damp. _I can’t let her sleep there,_ he thought.And besides, he wasn’t ready for sleep, not yet.

Allison had just started to try to settle herself down on her side of the bed, and she barely had a chance to flinch at the unpleasant dampness of the sheets - _Boy, I really scared myself with that dream, didn’t I?_ \- before she felt House’s big warm hand wrapping itself around her upper arm and drawing her over to his side of the bed...and right up against his chest. 

And then he was kissing her, slowly and gently, and running his hands up and down her bare back.

She wasn’t sure at first what he was doing - was this the same man that had rejected _her_ advances mere hours ago? She wanted him, but found herself holding back.

Greg noticed Alli was hesitant. Normally a kiss or two was all it took, and she’d be wrapped around him like a hungry boa constrictor, drinking in every kiss and caress he had to offer. And now he couldn’t help feeling a little rejected by her sudden relative coolness. _God,_ he thought, _now I know how_ she _felt, earlier, when I wasn’t in the mood. And I blew her off_ entirely _, unlike what she’s doing now._ Because she _was_ kissing him back, touching him, just not with her usual degree of eagerness. _Yep, I’m definitely an asshole. Maybe I should change my door sign at PPTH. Something like, ‘Gregory House, Department of Assholoric Medicine’._

So he did what he could to let her know that he cared, that he wanted her, that he found her desirable. Long slow kisses and long lazy caresses, everything as drawn-out and sensual as he could possibly make it, until she was sweating again, but not with fear. Until her arms were wrapped around him, and she was kissing him with her usual passion, until she was climbing on top of him to take the pleasure he’d denied her earlier. Until he was inside her as deep as he could go, and she was calling out his name, and they collapsed together, her falling asleep in his arms. And even then, although he usually moved away from her to sleep, to ensure that she couldn’t hurt his thigh by accident (and it was already protesting their activities vigorously), he moved as short a distance away as he could stand.

_What would I do if I lost Alli? Or rather, if I_ pushed _her away?_

_Best not to find out the answer to that question._

*~*~*

A few days had passed - awkward days, for both of them.

For one thing, House had already scheduled two exams with Mark, Stacy’s husband, and been stood up both times. Needless to say, this really pissed House off to no end. _First, Stacy has to show up and rope me in, putting a strain on my relationship with Alli, and now I can’t even move things forward._

He didn’t know what he wanted to do about this, either. One minute, he was planning to call Stacy and complain that his time was being wasted, and the next, he was thinking of what had happened with Alli and her nightmare, and he found himself hoping that Mark and Stacy would just disappear. That maybe, if Mark continued to stand him up, and that if he ignored the slight, the whole problem would just go away. He knew better, though. Stacy wouldn’t let it go. God, he hated being indecisive.

And that wasn’t his only problem. Ever since her nightmare, Alli had been uncomfortable around him. At work, she was quieter than usual, and didn’t stand up to him when he snarked at her, which was highly atypical. At home, well…first of all, she’d found an excuse not to come over, for two nights following the nightmare incident. He’d resisted calling her, wanting to let her have her space, if that would help. And when she’d finally come over on the third night, she’d been uncharacteristically quiet, distant. _It’s ironic,_ he kept thinking to himself, _how she keeps doing to me what I did to her – I push her away in bed, she did more-or-less the same to me, I gave her the silent treatment and she does the same to me_ …and yet, he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t punishing him or playing games, she was just…in a similar head-space to him, these days.

Which sucked. Sucked _hard_. House knew that although he still had feelings for Stacy, he wasn’t going to go back to her - go crawling to the woman who had gone against his wishes, who had saddled him with pain and a limp for the rest of his life? _Please,_ he had more sense than that. If anything, he wanted to _strengthen_ his relationship with Alli, all the more because of Stacy’s arrival (once he had gotten over the initial shock of seeing her, that is). He had been afraid at first, afraid of how Alli might hurt him, but now he knew the truth – it was himself he had to be afraid of. How _he_ would ruin their relationship, how _he_ might hurt Alli.

But now that Alli herself was afraid of him – not that he would hurt her physically, but _emotionally,_ that was another story – he needed to do something to restore her confidence in him, in their relationship. He’d tried to make love to her that third night, and although she hadn’t been hesitant or resistant, something had been missing. That deep level of connection had been toned down, at a time when he really _really_ could’ve used it to forge a stronger bond between them, to reaffirm their link to each other, but now…

He wanted that deep connection. _Craved_ it. He needed it against Stacy and Mark’s continuing presence ( _if_ it continued), and so he knew what he had to do. He had to take Alli’s control away, had to make her vulnerable, helpless. And then prove to her that he was worthy of her. 

The seed of a scene had already been planted, in fact. That damned nightmare, he identified it as the point at which things between them had been weakened. Before it, she’d been worried, but she’d still had faith in him. Afterwards, she’d become afraid. So when he thought of how he could prove himself to her, the nightmare was the first thing that popped into his mind. In the dream, he’d had her totally helpless, but he’d hurt her, relishing her pain and fear. In House’s mind, if he could put her in the same position again, but make her feel warm and cherished and safe, that would undo the damage the dream had wrought.

He pondered that idea for days, working it through in his mind. There were no outstanding cases (or at least, not until he managed to pin Mark down), so he had plenty of time on his hands (when he could avoid Cuddy and the clinic). He allowed his body to play Metroid Prime on the Gameboy, while his mind pondered the specifics of his plan – which room to use and when, what he’d use to restrain her, what he might do to her…

Although probably the most important specific of his plan – did he _dare_ to do this? He’d already taken her close to the edge, surprising her in his apartment, pretending to be a ‘kidnapper’, not too long ago…and while that had gone amazingly well, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t freak out _this_ time. What if he wasn’t able to convince her to trust him? What if he wasn’t able to prove himself?

But the worst question of all, was he putting his own needs before hers, and just being too thick-headed to realize it? Most men, when they wanted to prove themselves to their partners, they didn’t tie them up and take away their control. Of course, House wasn’t like most men, but _still_ …should he just do the usual (trite?) thing, buy her rare flowers and extravagant jewelery and take her out for a fancy dinner at Princeton’s most high-class restaurant? And then take her home and make gentle, tender, safe (boring) love to her while spouting the dreaded “L-word” over and over in her ear? _Why aren’t there medical textbooks for_ this _sort of thing?_ he snarked to himself, scowling as Samus got her ass kicked _again_ as a result of his distraction.

 

*~*~*

 

  
Allison was having trouble focusing at work. Not that there was much to focus on. They had no outstanding cases, and there was only so much of Greg’s mail she could go through, before her eyes started aching. Even when she volunteered to do clinic duty, there was still plenty of time left for self-analysis.

Even though they had made love, even though Greg was talking to her again, things were still… _off_. Part of it was fear of the future – Stacy’s husband hadn’t materialized yet – or if he _had_ , Greg was keeping the case to himself. And part of it was that the nightmare had stayed with her. She’d even kept herself apart from House for a few nights, hoping that distance would clear her head, ease her doubts, but it hadn’t. She knew she wasn’t acting the same around him, either, and was sure he had noticed. But she couldn’t explain it to him. How could she tell him that a nightmare had changed her whole perception of their relationship?

It was true that she didn’t fear for her physical safety with him, despite what had happened in the dream. Sure, he’d hurt – spanked – her in real life, but that was no big deal. Besides, she’d even _enjoyed_ it. No, it was her emotional safety that she was concerned for. _It’s so ironic that_ _Wilson_ _was concerned for Greg’s emotional health, that_ I _might hurt_ him. _He should’ve given that talk to Greg, not to me_. 

Although her nightmare seemed to have brought Greg back to her for now, what would happen when Stacy and Mark came to the hospital? If Mark was very ill, surely Stacy would be around constantly, would confer with Greg on a regular basis…and what effect might that have on the relationship between him and Allison? If he went all quiet and distant after one brief encounter, how would he be after seeing her for days on end? That was where Allison feared for her emotional safety. Because if he walled her off again, she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to put up with it. Thomas had done that towards the end, when his cancer had been devouring him at lightning speed, and so it had really felt like losing him twice…three times, actually. First, she’d lost him emotionally as he’d distanced himself from her. Second, she’d lost him intellectually, as the cancer had metastasized to the brain and his lucidity had gone, eaten away. And finally, complete loss as the cancer had claimed his life. Greg wasn’t terminal, of course, but the parallels were painfully evident. Greg had left her emotionally already, once, and if Stacy became a regular fixture in his life, even for a short time, would mental and physical abandonment follow?

The nightmare had also started her thinking about other aspects of their relationship, things that might come back to bite her in the ass. In her dream, Greg had accused her of hurting him, and then taken his revenge. She hadn’t hurt him (that she knew of), but Stacy had. Was she only a stand-in, a replacement for Stacy? And if she was, what did that mean, exactly? Was their relationship, despite all the good times they’d had, despite the deep affection she had caught glimpses of in his eyes, doomed to fail? That he didn’t really see her at all? That he would dump her in a heartbeat if Stacy decided she wanted her old beau back?

Which led to further uncomfortable questions. In her nightmare, he had been very specific, attacking and damaging her genitals…was this her subconscious trying to tell her that their relationship was based on sex? It was true, they’d started things off in the bedroom, but she believed – _wanted_ to believe – that it had been more. That even from that first night, it had been more. She wanted to believe that he’d loved her even before he’d bound her to his bed, but that he just hadn’t allowed himself to express his love. Not until he’d felt safe, when she’d shown him just how much control she’d been willing to give up to him, how much trust she had in him. But if he really _had_ wanted Stacy, all this time….it made it easier to think that Greg didn’t love Allison the way she thought he did. That their relationship was not based on love _and_ sex _and_ intellectual intercourse, but that she was only a body to keep him warm in his bed, until the person he _really_ wanted came back to him. 

_This isn’t helping anything,_ she told herself. _You don’t_ know _what he’ll do. You don’t even know if he’ll take the case. He said he would, but that was days ago, and so far, nothing (that you know of)._ Greg wasn’t Thomas, just as she wasn’t Stacy. Greg had become emotionally distant, but her nightmare, at the very least, had yielded the positive result of getting Greg emotionally ‘back into the room’ with her. So things might go better than she expected. 

Still, whenever she closed her eyes, she could see her inner demons, cavorting and grinning at her from the backs of her eyelids, and she knew it was going to be an uphill battle for her…

 

*~*~*

 

  
_It’s time,_ Greg told himself. It was Friday night, 3:25am, and he had figured that late evening (or early morning, if you prefer) would be the best time to carry out his ‘treatment’ plan on Alli. He already had the room all set up at PPTH, he just had to get Alli to go there with him.

Things had improved slightly between them over the last day or so, with her seemingly more comfortable, more like her old self, but there was still that hesitancy there. So he’d decided to carry out his evil plan no matter what, making all necessary arrangements…and now it was time to put it into action.

He reached across the bed, shaking Alli’s shoulder gently. “Alli, get up, we have to go to work.”

Allison felt a little disoriented when Greg shook her awake, but the urgency in his voice dispelled most of her sleepiness. She rolled over to find him already downing his Vicodin, and pulling on a tee shirt. “Emergency at the hospital?” she asked, throwing back the covers and opening the night-table drawer, in search of clean underwear.

“Yeah,” he said, his back still to her. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t want to waste precious time here, getting dressed and shooting the shit, and then getting caught in Exam Room Three in the midst of a scene when a few nurses decided to come in on time for once. “Let’s roll.”

Allison threw on some clothes and raked her hair back into a pony-tail, heading to the bathroom to quickly take care of her other needs while Greg finished dressing himself – jeans, blazer, Nike Shox. 

She didn’t seem to have noticed his lack of boxers, which was good. She also didn’t seem to have noticed that he had their dirty clothes from earlier that day – _both_ of their clothes – already packed in his bag. Just in case they got caught on their way out of the hospital, he preferred to have people think that they’d been there all night working on something legit.

Moments later, they were in the ‘vette, and House was driving as fast as he dared towards the hospital, again trying to make sure he had a sufficiently wide window of opportunity to carry out his evil plans. Alli appeared too sleepy to question him, leaning her forehead on her hand, arm braced on the car door, eyes closed and letting the wind push her hair out of her face.

After parking the car, he ushered her into the building ahead of him, but then he moved ahead, leading her towards the clinic.

After only a few moments, it was evident that they weren’t heading for the Diagnostic Medicine areas. _What’s going on?_ “Hey, House,” - she always called him House at PPTH...even now, when there was no one around to hear - “are we actually going to visit a patient?” She tried to stifle a yawn. Why the Hell were they doing this so late - early- anyways?

“Something like that,” he replied, struggling to act like everything was normal - struggling not to betray any nervousness or anything else that could tip Alli off. They headed towards the elevator, and he pressed the number for the floor with the clinic rooms, trying to keep his face blank, like he _wasn’t_ up to anything.

When they exited the elevator and Greg immediately went limping over to the clinic exam area, Allison felt a mixture of confusion and....nervousness. While she’d managed to see clinic patients in these same exam rooms all week, there had still been the occasional flashback to her nightmare. But that had been during the daylight hours, with Greg nowhere in evidence. Now, however, the clinic areas were dark, and here was Greg right in front of her, now unlocking the door to Exam Room Three. Allison’s nervousness started to overwhelm all other emotions. Not that she was any less sure that he wouldn’t hurt her, but _still_. This was highly unusual.

House unlocked the door and stepped into the darkened exam room, holding his breath. This was the first test. If she balked now, before anything even really got going...he stopped that train of thought, not wanting to pursue it. Taking deep breaths to maintain his sense of calm, he got to work. The stirrups he’d attached to the exam room table earlier that day - just before leaving for home - were still in place. The blinds were already shut, the door set to lock automatically behind Alli (if she came in). The room was warmer than usual, also his earlier doing. The lights, when he turned them on, were at the correct level of dimness. He didn’t want to use a bright light, which might attract unwanted attention even with the blinds closed, but he needed enough light to see what he was doing. And so he wouldn’t scare her. He put his bag up on the counter, opening it up, and pushing aside their clothes to search for the Ziploc bag he’d packed much earlier in the day, with all the ‘tools’ he’d thought he would need...all the while, listening for the muted click of Alli’s heels to come walking into the room.

In the hallway just outside the exam room door, Alli froze. She saw the exam table with its stirrups first, and her unease ratcheted up another notch. She couldn’t see House, but could hear something rustling. Finally, however, she told herself to stop being a coward. For one thing, Greg _wouldn’t_ hurt her \- not physically. For another, she could always outrun him. And finally, this might not be what she thought it was. Wouldn’t she feel stupid if and when, standing here trembling at the doorway of Exam Room Three, the patient and their family arrived? It was this last thought that convinced her to walk into the room.

House was in the midst of putting the Ziploc down on the counter and opening it, when Alli finally came in. He didn’t take the towel - with the ‘tools’ wrapped inside - out of the bag, just paused, waiting for her inevitable questions.

As soon as she heard the door lock automatically behind her - and she saw that they were alone in the room, with that rather ominous stirrup-ed exam table, Allison decided it was high time she figured out what was going on. “Greg?” she asked, deliberately breaking her own rule about using his first name on the hospital premises. “You’re up to something. Spit it out.”

That was when he turned, and fixed her with eyes that looked so hopeful and somehow....desperate...that she no longer knew what to think. But then he shifted and the look was gone, and a more familiar one had taken its place - the same sly, lecherous look that he wore when he was about to suggest some naughty bedroom activity.

House let himself limp over to Alli, until he was standing right next to her side, towering over her. He made sure his voice was low but commanding, that tone which he’d noticed was always very useful for putting her in ‘submissive mode’. _Voice, don’t fail me now,_ he thought. “That nightmare you had not too long ago seems to be affecting your work. You’re not putting me in my place as much as you used to. And I, for one, _won’t have it_.” Hiding his true feelings behind the snark, as usual, but…

The familiar commanding tone in his voice was almost enough to dispel her fears. She’d become too conditioned to dropping everything (professionalism, discussions, medical supplies, _pants_ ) when he spoke to her like that. And the combination of his voice, with the way he was overpowering her just with his proximity - warmth, scent, sound - was almost enough to erase all the doubts that had been dogging her for days. Funny that she’d forgotten that he wasn’t the type to express his love verbally, only physically, through his acts, and that she’d seen him more naked emotionally during their scenes than at any other time, but his presence was too distracting to allow her to finish her thought.

He could see the effect he was having on her, the way her breathing simultaneously deepened and sped up, her head drooping a little on her neck, her eyes closing. He noted the shudder that went through her as he edged even closer, leaning down so that his words and breath would brush against her ear as he spoke again. “Given the effect it has had on you, there’s only one possible way to deal with it. I have to give you an exam, and then I have to administer the appropriate _treatment_.”

At those words, some of Allison’s unease returned...but not enough to make her want to run away, to put distance between herself and the man she was sure she loved.

_Let’s get this show on the road, before_ either _of us chicken out._ Although the fact that she’d let him overpower her, in a sense, so easily, made him feel better about doing this. He lifted his cane, using its length to nudge her gently in the small of her back, and directed her to walk over to the exam table, until she was standing between the stirrups, facing away from him. He wasted no time moving up behind her.

“I want to hear you say your safeword, Allison.” A reminder that she had control, too, and that it wasn’t him taking her control _away_ , but rather her willingly _giving_ it to him.

“Pineapple,” she said, almost absent-mindedly, all of her attention focused on the man standing behind her, close enough that his breath stirred the hairs on the top of her head.

“Good.” he said. And then he leaned his cane against the side of the exam table, next to Alli, and reached around to her front, starting to undo the buttons of her blouse. 

 

Reality Bites...Well, Not Really

She couldn’t think as he undressed her. Thinking led her back to the nightmare, and she didn’t want to go there. _Feeling_ was safer. She concentrated on the warmth of his hands, his body against her back. She shivered a little when he finally stripped her shirt off, but didn’t try to stop him. Didn’t _want_ to stop him. Didn’t even want to question him about the likelihood of them getting caught…

House undid the clasp of her bra next, letting his callused hands caress her arms as he pushed the straps down. He ordered her to stay put, shuffling away to lay her clothing on the counter, and to gather up one of the examination gowns from the clean pile already on the counter.

Moving back to her, he unfolded the gown and then directed her to hold her arms out in front of her, so he could slide the pale blue garment into place. He didn’t bother to tie the lacings in the back, just grabbed her shoulders and moved her around until she was facing him. “Get up and sit on the edge of the table, between the stirrups.”

His eyes were locked on her face, and the heat in them made her insides quiver, but she obeyed him, almost unaware of the throb of unease inside her, as one of her thighs brushed against a stirrup. Surely he wasn’t going to make her put her feet in those… _was_ he?

House slid his hands under the edge of the gown, searching for the waistband of her pants. Soon he had them undone and was slipping them down and off her legs, and then he tossed them over his arm as he made a similar expedition to remove her panties. He decided to leave her socks on. It didn’t bother him if she wasn’t _totally_ naked. And besides, her feet had a tendency to get cold.

Allison watched as House limped away again, piling her clothes onto the counter with her blouse and bra. And then he was doing something at the counter, but his back was to her and she couldn’t see what he was up to. The gown was a little rough on her skin, but overall she felt OK. The exam room was warmer than she might have expected, the paper on the surface of the exam table wasn’t all that annoying, for once, and Greg was limping back towards her with that hungry gleam in his eyes…

Back in front of her, he placed some items on her lap, and she grabbed for them instinctively when they started to roll off…and that was when she realized that she was holding restraints. Hospital restraints, the kind they used to keep patients from hurting themselves or others. Her hands suddenly shaky and cold, she looked up to find House watching her, gauging her reaction. “Greg…I don’t know if I can do this.”

The fear in her eyes almost stopped him. _Is this_ really _what I ought to be doing, to bring us closer?_ he questioned himself. Had he damaged their relationship so much, that she would no longer trust him to take care of her? But despite his doubts, he made himself press on. He knew no other way to show her how he felt. “Dr. Cameron,” forcing a casualness that he didn’t feel, “it is imperative that we treat this… _disorder_ of yours. And part of that treatment is to ensure that you can’t move. Movement would invalidate some of the tests we’re going to be performing.” 

For a moment she sat there, looking at him, letting the fear have free reign…and yet, despite the calm expression on his face, his air of clinical detachment, she saw that his eyes betrayed his true feelings, as they always _had_. If you looked close enough, that is. And now, searching his eyes, Allison saw the worry, the doubt, the _fear_. He’s _scared, too,_ she realized. _Scared that he’s doing the wrong thing? Scared that_ he _might lose_ me _?_ But it didn’t really matter _why_. Just the fact that he, too, was afraid, told her something important. It told her that he cared about her, and that he was trying to reach out to her in the only way he was comfortable with – physically. And she knew that despite her recent doubts and fears, she _still_ loved him, and she trusted him enough to let him have the control over her that he needed, to let him demonstrate physically what he felt in his heart.

Besides, she knew he wouldn’t force her to do anything that she didn’t really _want_ to do. She could safeword and walk out of here at any time. This knowledge, plus the look in his eyes, helped to quell most of her fears. She nodded, letting him know that she was ready to continue.

_Good,_ House thought. Masking his sense of relief and gratitude, he moved closer, holding his hand out for one of her wrists, and waiting until she put it into his hand before lifting one of the cuffs from her lap and buckling it around her slender limb. He repeated the process with her other arm, again waiting for her to voluntarily offer her limb for binding.

Cuffs in place, he ordered her to lie back against the table. He’d already set-up the straps that would serve to lock the cuffs to the exam table surface, and he was pleased to discover that no one had removed them in the interim. Once Alli’s hands were secured to both sides of the exam table, he went back to the counter to retrieve the short lengths of rope he’d brought with him.

Back between her legs, he paused, holding her gaze as he held his hand out for one of her ankles.

Allison was already becoming aroused, but that didn’t relieve her of _all_ her hesitation. Until she met his eyes again. There it was, yet again, that softening of the normally hard cyan of his gaze, the look which had convinced her that he did feel something…that in fact, he felt a _lot_.

She gave him her ankle, and he placed it carefully in the appropriate stirrup, unhurriedly winding rope around the stirrup and her foot, making sure that she couldn’t get free, but that it wasn’t so tight as to be uncomfortable or to cut off her circulation. Once he was satisfied, he accorded the same treatment to her other foot. And then he backed off a few paces, pausing to get his mental bearings.

“We’ll begin with an exam of your reproductive functioning. We’ve got to know how extensively this _disorder_ has affected you.” he said to her, as he went back to the counter a final time. This time, he took the towel with all his ‘tools’ wrapped in it, plus a few items belonging to the exam room itself – small flashlight, latex gloves – and placed them on a small wheeled trolley, pushing it ahead of him as he moved back towards Alli. He parked it within easy reach, and then grabbed a pair of gloves, leisurely pulling them on.

The sight of the gloves, and the snapping sound they made as he pulled them on, brought some unease back. Had the vicious House in her nightmare been wearing latex gloves? She couldn’t remember…

House limped over to her left side, until he was standing next to her chest. He could see the rapid pulsebeat in her neck, and wanted to kiss it, but instead he gently grabbed the collar of the gown and drew it slowly down, baring her breasts again to his view.

She couldn’t help gasping a little as she felt Greg’s gloved hands on her, his face and touch oddly impersonal as he gave her a breast exam. And she felt her unease growing again. He had her totally helpless, her had her here alone…and now even their usual emotional connection seemed to have been lost.

He checked her other breast thoroughly, as if this really was a legit gynecological exam…but he couldn’t restrain himself for long. He gathered her breast up in both hands for a moment, gently testing its plumpness, and then let one of his hands move to her nipple, softly tweaking it.

This _isn’t part of a standard gyne exam,_ Allison thought, moaning a little in her throat, shocked at how quickly this was arousing her. And comforted by the faint smirk she could see on Greg’s face.

House moved to cup Alli’s other breast in his hands, this time leaning down and tasting her nipple, sucking it into a hard peak as she shuddered, feeling her back arching a little under him in response. She was still a little nervous, but that was OK. So long as she was _enjoying_ and nervous, he was going to continue carrying out his diabolical plan.

He straightened back up, and limped back towards Alli’s feet again, snagging the little wheeled stool that had been against the wall on his way. Back between her thighs, he seated himself, not letting himself glance towards her face as he lifted the gown off her thighs and folded it neatly across her belly, exposing her entire sex to his view.

Allison squirmed a little, not really afraid any more, but the strangeness of being exposed to Greg this way, trussed up and in stirrups in an exam room right smack in the middle of PPTH, made her somehow feel even more naked, more exposed. He was doing something that she couldn’t really see – her legs were in the way, but he seemed to be rummaging on that little trolley he’d dragged over earlier. _Just like in the nightmare, when I couldn’t see what he was doing_ …and then she quashed that train of thought.

House prepared the instrument for the next stage of his plan. It hadn’t taken long to find what he needed on the internet. Apparently, there were enough people out there with cervical exam fetishes that when he’d decided to get a speculum of his own to use on Alli, finding a clear plastic one had taken no time at all. And thank God for express shipping, or he’d have had to wait much longer to carry out this little scene, enduring the strain between them the whole time.

He’d already sterilized it earlier, so now he held it in one hand for a moment, warming the plastic up a bit (although he was sure it would be already much less cold then a metal one), and rummaging with his other hand for his other online purchase – edible lubricant, mildly flavoured with strawberries. The usual lube they used in gyne exams was out – wasn’t meant for ingestion, and probably tasted like crap anyways. Not that he was all that keen on strawberry-flavoured Alli, but this way, he could ensure the minimum discomfort on Alli’s part, while also ensuring that he had no fear of letting his ‘tongue do the walking’, afterwards. So now he slathered the lube onto his new toy liberally, and then held the bills of the speculum tightly together as he prepared to insert it into her.

She had been expecting him to touch her, of course, but she couldn’t help jumping a little as he spread her labia with one hand. And then he was gently sliding something cool and hard inside her, and she gasped in reaction. She felt her vagina being stretched a moment later, and as Greg locked the device open, she realized he was using a speculum on her, although it felt more comfortable than usual.

Alli seemed to be OK (he’d read somewhere online that inserting the speculum sideways – which was _not_ typical gyne procedure – was actually more comfortable for the woman, so he’d already decided to try it out that way). He moved on with his ‘fake’ exam, picking the flashlight up from the trolley and making a quick visual check of her cervix. _Nope, no problems there,_ he thought to himself. Amused at himself, that the diagnostician had stepped in for a moment, in the midst of the scene. And then he was unlocking the instrument and withdrawing it carefully from inside her, putting both it and the diagnostician away. “Your cervix looks healthy,” he said to her casually, again acting as if this was a normal gyne exam.

Allison watched as Greg put the speculum down on the trolley. Feeling the anticipation coiling in her belly, wondering what he would do next. Something typical of the usual gyne exam? Or something much less AMA-approved and hot? The House she’d seen in her nightmare seemed pretty far away from this situation, indeed...

He turned back to her, and she felt his latex-covered fingers spreading her open again. And then came the quick brush of his finger over her perineum before he slid it inside her in one firm stroke. She tried not to react inappropriately, as he again was acting like this was just some regular gyne check, probing inside her carefully, pressing on her belly to feel for her ovaries....but then she gasped and arched her back, pulling against her bonds, as his thumb started to tease her erect clit with little round stroking motions...

He glanced up at her, letting himself smirk again, increasing the pressure of his thumb on her clit. “Everything seems normal in terms of your reproductive organ structure, Dr. Cameron. So now we have to assess whether the functioning of your organs is within normal limits. We’ll focus today on how _responsive_ you are.”

If he’d wanted an intelligible reply, she was too distracted to offer one, straining against his hand as his thumb teased her, as the finger inside her sought out the most sensitive spots on her inner walls and caressed them.

House eased the stool back a bit, and then leaned over, replacing his thumb with his tongue, working it softly against her swollen node. He could taste the strawberry flavouring of the lube mixed in with the familiar taste of Alli, which was more annoying to him than he might have expected. He liked her just the way she tasted, and the adulteration with the fruit flavour pissed him off in no time flat. _Oh well,_ he thought to himself, _I’ll just have to_ wash _her clean_...letting his tongue continue to toy with her sensitive node.

Allison twisted a little against her bonds, her nerve endings tickled by Greg’s scratchy stubble, hot pulses going right through her as his tongue swirled around her clit, as his finger probed inside her. And whenever she looked down, there was that penetrating cyan gaze, dragging her in, _drowning_ her… _but what a way to go_ , she thought.

House had a free hand, so he slid it up, brushing it over the examination gown crumpled across her stomach, reaching out to stroke one of her nipples. _I didn’t touch them much before,_ he thought to himself, _and I wouldn’t want to neglect them_ …Boy, he hoped Alli was enjoying this as much as – if not more than – he was. She was becoming wetter and wetter by the minute (no more alien strawberry flavour, and Greg celebrated internally at that), panting, squirming in that delicious way that he just loved to watch. He could’ve sat there forever, face buried inside her sweet hot scented flesh…but they only had so much time before other staff might start to show up, so he regretfully pulled back from her, slipping his finger out of her warmth, dragging his tongue up her leg in one slow stroke, before starting to rummage on the trolley again.

He was sweating, even with just the blazer and tee shirt, and his erection had been aching in his jeans for so long that it was competing admirably with the usual ache in his thigh, but he stubbornly refused to break role. “Well, Dr. Cameron, I am happy to tell you that you appear to have a very _mild_ form of this _disorder_. You’re responding very well to all diagnostic tests, and I’m sure with a little ‘treatment’, we can clear everything right up.”

Allison grinned, shaking her head a little at the serious look on his face…even as his eyes held a hint of amusement. She cleared her throat, and tried to match his serious tone, saying “I’m glad to hear it, Dr. House. What does this ‘treatment’ usually entail?”

“I’ll show you, Dr. Cameron.” And then he picked up another item from the trolley – something else he’d ordered online, this time at least a month ago. He’d been waiting for the right time to use it, and had decided that tonight’s scene was the moment. It was a long, moderately-thick vibrator, with a soft silicon surface, and he had deliberately selected one with an interesting texture…he hoped Alli would like it.

There was a sudden quiet buzzing noise, and before Allison even had a chance to lift up her head to see what Greg was doing, he applied the buzzing little instrument to her clit. The vibrations immediately sizzled along her nerve endings, wringing the inevitable gasp from her lips, and she had barely started to process the sensation before Greg slid the tip of the vibrator down between her labia, and then slid it fully into her.

_Oh…God_ …. She’d had similar toys on hand, back in the days of her singlehood, but she’d never had a lover actually use one on her before….and it certainly added something to the experience. Not only the feel of it inside her, sending tingling waves throughout her body, but also the sensation of Greg’s eyes on her, watching her lose control…

He wanted her to come, and come _hard_ , and he was still (as always) hungry for her, so his mouth was soon back on her clit again, sucking firmly as he turned the vibrator up to its maximum setting, pushing and pulling it slowly in and out of her, feeling her muscles resist him every time he pulled it out for another stroke…and then she was tensing, crying out, pushing her center against him as much as her bonds allowed, coming unglued under his mouth…

She slumped, sweaty and shaky and limp, and he pulled back, turning the vibrator off and easing it out of her, discarding it onto the towel on the trolley…when he turned back, he saw she was dripping so much that her juices were trickling out of her and starting to run down the undersides of her buttocks, and he leaned forward and licked up the errant drops, not wanting to miss a drop of her sweet buttery syrup, if he could help it.

She felt like she was floating, bound on the table and yet so relaxed…she didn’t know why she had ever been afraid, why she had ever believed that Greg would ever be capable of harming her…she opened her eyes, wanting to apologize to him, but he spoke before she had the chance.

“So, I pronounce you _cured_ , Dr. Cameron. But we really ought to administer a little ‘preventative treatment’, just to make sure that this doesn’t happen again in the near future.” While speaking, Greg tried to stretch out his weak leg a bit, without wincing. He didn’t want to take more Vicodin, yet, if he could help it, but he also wasn’t done with Alli…not by a long shot.

_Apologies can wait,_ Allison decided. Besides, she knew he was too stubborn to deviate from his scene until he was done…or she safeworded. And she wasn’t going to do that, just to apologize. Not when he probably had a couple more tasty tricks up his sleeve…

“Close your eyes.” he ordered, waiting until she had done so, and then he grabbed a condom from the trolley, snagging his cane from the floor as quietly as he could at the same time. _This might not be the_ best _idea_ , he thought to himself, unrolling the condom over the handle of the cane, _but she_ did _like it when I was using my cane on her clit that first night_ ….so all things considered, he _was_ rather curious to see how she might like having it inside her. He’d brought his old cane with him (the handle had a much more gradual curve to it than his new one), on the off chance that he might want to try using it inside her, and he was very glad that she hadn’t seemed to have noticed the switch.

He quickly thought through what would be the best way to do this. He didn’t think there was any way he’d be able to manage a full insertion, not with her lying on her back like this – she ‘curved’ one way, the cane handle the other way. And if he tried to flip it upside down, with the rubber end of the cane pointing straight up into the air, and slide the handle into her that way, although the ‘fit’ would work, the cane was long and would be difficult to balance, without putting undo pressure on too-tender spots. He briefly considered untying her and getting her on her hands and knees, but then decided slow and steady should be the order of the day (night?) in any case. He’d just slip only an inch or two inside her, and if she liked it, he’d go for the ‘full meal deal’ in a future scene. Finally prepared, he eased the lips of her sex apart once again, and very _very_ cautiously slipped the ‘prescribed’ number of inches into her.

Allison felt Greg spreading her wide, again, and then he was slowly guiding something hard inside her, stopping once it was a little way into her. Then slowly moving it in and out…No vibrations this time, and it didn’t feel like a speculum or other medical instrument. He hadn’t threatened any punishment for disobeying him _this_ time, so she dared to open her eyes and try to see what he was doing. Not that it didn’t feel good, because it did, but after his earlier trick with the vibrator, she was curious to see what other surprises he was going to pull on her.

_Oh God, I can’t believe he’s using his_ cane…. _I can’t believe that I’m actually liking it._ Except that wasn’t true, was it? She’d really _really_ enjoyed the hard caress of the handle on her clit, many months ago…and now she was really enjoying the unyielding press of it inside her. She didn’t know what was hotter, the actual sensation or the idea of _what_ Greg was using to stimulate her, but she could feel herself flushing even more than usual, could feel her own fluids dripping out of her, and so she felt no hesitation in closing her eyes again, in pushing herself down against Greg’s cane as much as her bonds would allow, in letting herself make ‘happy’ noises…

House took in her reaction. He’d been worried that even with shallow penetration, it might be uncomfortable or even painful, so he’d been watching her like a hawk from the initial moment of insertion. And now, while it looked like this was a rousing (ha-ha) success, he wanted – as always – to make _absolutely_ sure. “Alli,” he said. “Does this feel good? Are you liking this? Because I’ll stop if you don’t.”

She opened her eyes, knowing what she’d see – that soft look in his eyes, the one that told her the depth of his feelings, underneath the actions. The silent promises that he’d never speak, but that she’d known were there, all along…she’d just temporarily forgotten. _Definitely need to apologize,_ she thought again. _Later._ “Yes, Dr. House,” she said, pretending to ignore his slip out of role. “Please, continue with your-” she had to stop for a moment, gasping as he moved the cane handle inside her _just_ right- “treatment.”

He caught himself smirking, but this time didn’t bother to quash it. _Screw the ‘serious face’,_ he thought. _Pun_ intended. And then he was picking up another of his new toys, a small bullet-shaped vibrator, which he then turned on and applied to Alli’s clit.

She yelped in surprise, but the feelings were so…unique…so intense, that there was nothing to do but take it in, the hard handle massaging the walls just inside her entrance, the tickle of the vibrations against her sensitive button. It didn’t take long for her to get right on the edge…

House was waiting for that moment. He could’ve let her come again, but his own aching need had finally become too much for him. If he didn’t get inside her soon, he was going to come in his pants like a randy teenager. And so he withdrew the vibrator, turning it off, and then eased the cane handle slowly out, quickly stripping the condom off the wood, in case his leg gave out and he needed to use his cane for its _intended_ purpose.

Allison watched with half-lidded eyes as her lover stood up and shoved the stool away, as he quickly took off blazer and tee shirt and tore the gloves off his hands. And then he unzipped his jeans, and she couldn’t help laughing at the realization that he had come here wearing nothing underneath them. “Do you always do these exams ‘commando’, Dr. House?” she asked him, her tone deliberately sultry and teasing.

“Only when I’ve got the really _hot_ chicks trussed up on my exam table, Dr. Cameron.” he quipped back at her, quickly putting a new condom to use on his throbbing hard-on.

As he moved into position between her thighs, she couldn’t resist one last quip. “Is that instrument”- indicating his erection with a motion of her head – the only part of herself that was free to move – “approved by the American Medical Association, Dr. House?”

“Indeed. It’s even been _field-tested_ in many studies, using _large_ sample sizes.” He gave her a lopsided smirk, lowering his hands to grasp the cheeks of her ass, lining her up for entry.

Allison threw her head back, laughing loudly, and then choked it back down to quiet snickers as she remembered where they were. “God, I _hope_ not,” she shot back at him with a smile, “so many women for me to measure up to.”

She hadn’t intended that to be taken as a sign that she was comparing herself to Stacy (or any other key female figures in Greg’s past), but he apparently thought that was the issue, as he paused and locked that penetrating look on her, the one that always made her feel like he could see right into her. But he only answered, “No contest. You’d win in a heartbeat.”

And then she couldn’t say anything, moaning and arching her back as he thrust into her in one deep stroke, stretching her open to receive him, her insides throbbing as his heat caressed her deep inside.

House had to grit his teeth for control, to pause inside her. Just for kicks, his back had begun to protest his early-morning hijinks, setting up an insistent counterpoint to the usual throb in his thigh. Oh well, at least the pain could work _for_ him this time, as focusing on that, instead of how hot and tight Alli felt around him, would cool him off. So that he’d actually have some staying power.

Finally feeling in control, he started to move inside her. Resisting the urge to hurry, taking the time to stroke the insides of her immobilized legs, to brush his knuckles over her reddened clit, sliding his hand underneath the folds of the gown to splay warmly across her soft little belly, slipping back out from under the gown and over the fabric to caress her breasts, her nipples. And all the while continuing to move slowly inside her, their eyes locked, as he tried to will her to know what he was feeling, but was not yet (and maybe never would be) able to say.

Until the pressure built up behind his balls, and there was nothing to do but to go faster, pounding rapidly into Alli, teasing her node in earnest with the palm of one hand, pushing her over the edge so that he could feel her insides grasping at him, could feel her body trying to hold him inside her…

She bit her lip, smothering her cry of pleasure, feeling the spasms start in her womb and spreading out into her entire body, Greg’s eyes still on hers, holding her, letting her know that he was there, there for _her_ …the contact finally broken when his face twisted and he threw his head back, giving a strangled cry of his own as he surrendered to his own climax.

Greg lowered himself down onto her, still deep inside her, panting and flushed, but still taking the time to kiss her nipples, to stretch up and brush his lips over hers, before laying his head on her chest, his cheeks rough, wet with sweat.

He could hear her heartbeat, her breathing, and he wrapped his arms around her, around her ribs, sliding his hands under her shoulders, letting the sound lull him for a few long moments. Until his leg and back would no longer let him.

Allison watched, completely relaxed, as Greg slowly got up off of her, as he removed the condom and cleaned himself off with some wipes from the trolley, and then he pulled his jeans up and zipped them. He cleaned her off, next, being careful with her still-swollen flesh, and then one-by-one, he released each of her limbs, holding each one in his hands for a moment. His eyes still locked on hers, that subtle communication between them still going strong.

House helped Alli sit up, and then grabbed his cane, limping over to the bag with their clothes. He grabbed Alli’s things first, tossing them over to her, and then dressed himself in his tee-shirt, and button-down from earlier that day. Good thing he’d worn the same blazer. He turned around slowly, aching, to find her examining the clothing curiously. “Yeah,” he said, forestalling her question, “‘previously-enjoyed’ clothing, I know. Figured if anyone catches us on the way out, they’ll find it easier to believe we were stuck here all night working, if we’re all rumpled and smell less than ‘Zestfully’ clean.”

She nodded. Typical of him, to focus on the small details like that. Except for the fact that they had no cases, and thus no reason to be here, but…she got off the table and dressed, as Greg gathered up and put away his ‘toys’, and then she helped him clear the room of all remaining signs of their presence.

“Any final prescriptions, Dr. House? To prevent further ‘outbreaks’?” she asked him, once he looked ready to head for the door.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking at her once again. “Complete _pelvic_ _rest_. At least until after dinner tonight.”

Allison stifled a giggle and then followed Greg out of the exam room, to the elevator, and finally out of the hospital and towards the ‘vette. He was limping much more than usual, and she felt concerned for him, but knew him well enough to stay silent. She didn’t want him to ruin the moment with one of those “That’s what you get for screwing an old cripple” self-loathing comments in return. He spouted fewer and fewer of them these days, at least in regards to his sexual performance, but there was _still_ the occasional one.

House slid himself carefully behind the wheel. He checked his watch, but it was still early yet to take a Vicodin, so he paused a moment, trying to relax his back, trying to surreptitiously massage his thigh. Tapping his cane rhythmically against the seat, feeling that he ought to say _something._

Somehow, he could smell Alli’s scent – _that_ scent – on his cane-handle, still, which only served to scatter his thoughts even more, so he put the cane down, resorting to tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Glancing over at her, he saw she looked _sated_ , glowy… _Good thing we didn’t run into anyone on our way out,_ he thought. _No one, looking at Alli’s face,_ _would believe that I wasn’t screwing her seventy ways from Sunday back there…We’ll have to work on her poker face some more._

He wasn’t starting the car, just sitting there tapping his fingers on the wheel, and Allison wondered what was going on. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know quite how.

_C’mon, c’mon,_ he said to himself. _If you can’t tell her you love her, at least tell her she’s got nothing to worry about. That she’s worth ten thousand of Stacy. Tell her that she’s smart, beautiful, everything a man could ever want. Tell her how lucky you feel that she picked a miserable old bastard like you to be her partner._ The words he could say – if he’d only open his mouth – kept circling through his head. Until finally he felt her hand on his arm, a light, questioning touch, and he berated himself for his cowardice. _You’re supposed to be talking to_ her _, dumbass, not to yourself_. 

It felt like walking towards a firing squad, but he turned in his seat, to meet her eyes, their blue dimmed by the pale morning light surrounding them. He opened his mouth, not really sure what was going to come out…and then heard himself say: “I’m not leaving you.” He’d been forced to drop his eyes when he said it, but then he looked back up at Alli as her hand tightened on his arm.

_That’s…quite an admission for him._ And despite the mantra that he’d pounded into her head for months, that ‘Everybody lies’, she believed him. Then again, she always had believed him, _trusted_ him, hadn’t she? And she supposed that he hadn’t really let her down. He could be a bastard, but…he was _always_ there for her, if in his own way. So she leaned forward, kissing him gently on the lips, and murmured, “Let’s go home.”

 


	5. The Gift of Giving Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House tries to treat Mark Warner, and Cam tries to ‘distract’ House from his stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No ownership of any of them. *cries* Don’t sue me, I’m pathetically poor. I’m practically living in a cardboard box under a bridge.  
> Author’s Notes: Follows canon up to ‘Love Hurts’, and then deviates. A lot. But definitely spoilery for S1of House.

_Talk about your trial-by-fire,_ House thought. Not that things with Alli hadn’t been going well, all things considered, since they’d confronted her nightmare together in that Clinic room half a week ago. But yeah, if he’d wanted an external pressure, to test how resilient their bond was, he sure was getting some.

He’d waited and waited for Mark to get his ass into PPTH, so that the team could try to figure out what – if anything – was wrong with him. But Mark kept ‘missing’ their appointments. And House was starting to get thoroughly sick of the whole thing. So when Stacy had asked him to meet her and Mark at a restaurant, he’d accepted right away. Maybe meeting on neutral turf would make Mark less likely to bolt, at least for a few minutes. Which should give House just enough time to spring his backup plan, in case Mark continued to be unwilling to come in for a diagnosis.

Besides, House would never say no to a free meal, as Jimmy would no doubt attest to.

So, he’d come to the restaurant and met Stacy, bringing his backup plan – chloral hydrate – with him. Spiking Mark’s beer with it while Stacy was off powdering her nose. He’d then shot the shit with Stacy, shot the shit with Mark, and dosed the latter (too bad he couldn’t reasonably dose Stacy into the bargain) just in time for the ambulance’s arrival. And House hadn’t even needed to expend much effort to goad him into drinking the stuff. _I rock._

Which wasn’t to say that he’d enjoyed their restaurant tête-a-tête. He remembered his abrupt feelings of jealousy, hearing the worried note in Stacy’s voice as Mark had succumbed to the drug. He’d even had a sudden flashback (sterile white hospital room, beeping machines, _pain_ ), hearing that tone from her for the first time in a long time. In fact, just thinking of it now, he could feel the vision (memory) of that time five years ago trying to smother him again.

 _No._ He quashed the unwelcome memory. It was time to get down to business.

 

*~*~*

Cameron couldn’t believe it. House had dosed Mark, just to get him to come in? Then again, she supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised. It was typical of him, after all. _Remind me to never get sick_ , she thought to herself with wry amusement.

Oh well, the sooner he treated Mark, the sooner he and Stacy would leave, and the sooner the strain on _their_ relationship would be gone. She supposed she ought to thank Greg, all things considered, for finally forcing the issue.

Still, she couldn’t help thinking that the whole thing was _off_ , somehow. There were nosymptoms – at all - that Mark was actually sick. They only had Stacy’s word for it that he was. And that was good enough for Greg? That was….frankly, weird.

She’d tried to point this out to him. _‘You believe her over the patient himself.That’s why we’re taking this case.’_

She could still hear his mocking reply to her question, echoing in her head: _‘The truth, I hear voices. All the time.Telling me to do stuff, it’s crazy, huh?’_

Yes, he’d snarked back at her without missing a beat – which didn’t surprise her, really, he was just as much an asshole to her at work as he always had been. The fact that they’d been having a ‘relationship’ outside of work hadn’t changed the team dynamic one iota.

Still, old habits died hard on her end, too. Her next question to him: _‘What happened to “everybody lies”?’_ And his brilliant reply? _‘I was lying.’_ Uh-huh. And then he’d reeled off a list of tests for them to try, snarked at Chase, and left the conference room.

For now, Allison tried not to get worried. _It’s nothing,_ she told herself. _It’s OK if he’s stressed. It’s understandable._ _He told you he’s not leaving you, you don’t have to worry on that score. He’s just off his game because of what was once between him and Stacy. That’s understandable,_ she repeated to herself _._ And she went to run her assigned tests, not sure if she was hoping for positive or negative results. Whichever would get Mark out of here faster, she supposed.

 

*~*~*

_Wilson_ _, you’re such an idiot. A_ nosy _idiot._ Of course, Wilson had no clue that House was no longer ‘available’, himself, so it wasn’t surprising that Jimbo thought he was keen to get into Stacy’s pants again, but…this was actually kind of amusing. He limped down the hallway, Jim keeping pace with him.

“What you’re thinking is, you’re going to save him, be a hero, and win her back”, Jim was saying. “It’s always impressive, that level of twisted narcissism.”

“She’s married.” House shot back at him, hiding a smirk. “Big clue I lost the game.” _And I’m not even in the game any more. I’ve got a new ‘playmate’. Literally._

“You can’t be within fifty feet of Stacy Warner.” Jim persisted. What a nag he was.

“I thought she wanted me to treat him.” House said.

“Treat the husband. Stay away from the wife.”

“But what if they get close to each other?” House said, pretending to be confused. “What do I do then?” Too much fun, pushing Jim’s buttons like this. They were at the elevator, so he pushed another button – this one to call the elevator. _I bet he gets in with me, and continues to rag me about this._

“Hey, you have to treat this like a regular case.” Jim said. The elevator arrived, and House got in. But Jim didn’t follow, just added “Be yourself: cold, uncaring, distant.”

“Please,” House said mockingly. “Don’t put me on a pedestal.” _And I can think of at least one person who would disagree with your assessment of me. Wouldn’t that surprise you, Jimmy?_ But he decided not to tell Wilson about Cameron, yet. Watching Jim trying to ‘talk some sense’ into him was just too amusing to cut short. And House needed to comic relief, considering everything that was going on.

 

*~*~*

A short time later, Allison found herself walking down the hall with House and Chase, trying to reason with her boyfriend – odd as that word felt, to apply to Greg.

“MRAs were clean, which means he’s probably fine. He doesn’t seem paranoid, he shows no signs of–“

House cut her off. “No, it means we have no idea what’s wrong with him.” And then he looked expectantly at Foreman, who was walking towards them.

“Ben Goldstein says the schedule’s locked. He can’t do it before tomorrow.” Eric said.

“No,” House insisted, “ _today_. Call him. Tell him I’ll make it work.”

Allison still had misgivings about this, still felt that something was off. Badly. Was it the strain of having to deal with his ex? “You’re cutting him open?” she asked him. _Is that really necessary?_ she wondered.

Predictably, Greg reacted to her challenge with a snappy comeback. He called after Eric, “Whoa, hold it! There’s no need for exploratory surgery, Dr. Cameron has a diagnosis!”

 _If someone doesn’t watch it, he’s going to be sleeping on the couch_ , Allison thought. Even with everything that was between them, she still couldn’t help getting annoyed, occasionally (frequently), at his attempts to cut her down at work. And this was one of those times. Then again, if he suddenly stopped doing so, she supposed the jig would be up. People would notice, and they’d have the whole hospital scrutinizing them.

So she shoved her annoyance aside, and fell into her usual ‘role’. The role she’d always occupied, before they’d started this…whatever it was. Relationship. “No, I just think it’s premature, and maybe irresponsible, to do exploratory surgery before we know he’s actually _sick_.” And besides, she believed she was right. In this instance.

Greg fired off another sarcastic comeback, ignoring how Chase and Eric rolled their eyes at his antics. “No, it’s premature to put him on a list for _hospice_ care. And it’s maybe irresponsible to imply my actions are not rationally supported.”

She felt the annoyance pulsing strongly within her again, despite her best efforts. Damn him, that he could still push her buttons so easily, get her on the defensive with hardly any effort. Then again, he hadn’t been _this_ cutting to her in weeks. It had to be the strain, the pressure. The weight of the past.

She wouldn’t let herself think about the possibility that it was his _jealousy_ of Mark and Stacy. He’d told her he wasn’t going to leave her, she had to trust in that. _Had_ to. She’d trusted him with so much else already, in the bedroom, in her own heart, and he hadn’t let her down. So far.

Still, she had her own brand of stubbornness. “All we have is his wife–“ she tried to reason with him, to show him just how uncharacteristic he was being.

“Who says that his stomach hurts. Works for me.” he replied dismissively.

 _That’s not enough._ How ironic, that she was practically _becoming_ House, to reason with him. “The patient doesn’t even think he’s sick.Why would he consent–“

“His wife’s a lawyer. She’s _very_ convincing. Call Goldstein, surgery’s on.” he said to Foreman, and then stalked off, his cane thumping loudly on the floor. And Allison just stood there, looking after him. Wondering if she just ought to wait and ride it out, or if she should try to actually _do_ something about this. Do something to relieve the pressure on Greg, and by extension, and strain that filtered down to their relationship. Both at PPTH and outside.

Finally, she started moving towards the labs. She still had some analyses to run. As she walked, her mind turned the problem over, like a half-completed Rubik’s cube.

Their home life was much improved, over the first time Stacy had shown up. House could still be pensive and quiet at times, when she was alone with him, but if she spoke to him, if she went over and touched him, he’d snap out of it and engage her again. And there’d been no repetitions of the night when he’d pushed her away when she’d tried to make love to him. Certainly, she wasn’t having any more violent nightmares of Greg hurting her and delighting in her pain.

And, at least up until now, their work dynamic had been OK. She was used to him being a sarcastic bastard, that was _him_. So no, it wasn’t that which was ringing the alarm bells in her head, really. It was more that she was seeing him depart from his usual way of doing things, and she worried that it would come back to bite him in the ass, in the end. And that he seemed to be displacing his anger onto her, given how much more harsh his barbs at work were becoming lately. Or so it seemed to her.

If he did screw up this case, because of his feelings for his ex, not only might it impact his job, but it might even have negative repercussions for what they had together. Maybe.

It was when she reached the lab that a new idea occurred to her. If it really was the stress of having to deal with his ex, and of having to deal with all the confused feelings that came with it, that was throwing him off his game, maybe she ought to _distract_ him. Give him something else to focus on, at least for a little while, that would give him a mental break. Preferably something in the physical realm, since, hedonist that he was, that had always been an effective diversion.

Not that they hadn’t played any bondage games since that nighttime tryst in the PPTH Clinic, but _still_ …why not try something a little different? Add that extra little kick, that extra bit of spice, something to affirm to Greg that she had chosen him, that she wanted him, that she had no regrets. Something to bookend the effort he’d put in, weeks ago, to exorcise her nightmares. Seemed only fair.

 

*~*~*

House saw that Stacy was sitting in the waiting area outside of the OR, and he couldn’t resist going over, couldn’t resist bringing a peace offering. Which confused him mightily. Didn’t he want to _hurt_ this woman? Didn’t he want payback?

It made him wonder why the Hell he was bringing her coffee.

“….they’ll try to distinguish it by relying on the minority opinion.” she was saying into a tape recorder, as he reached her and held up the coffee cup in front of her face.

“Double milk, no sugar.” he said to her. _Allison is one cream, one sugar,_ his mind whispered back at him. _What are you_ doing _? Why aren’t you off doing your job? Or rather,_ avoiding _doing your job, but in your typical hiding places?_

“I _like_ sugar now.” she said. _Surprise, surprise_.

House sat next to her, still wondering why the Hell he was here, why the Hell he was doing this. To prove to Stacy how grown-up he was, that he’d been able to move on? That he wasn’t bitter (he _was_ )? He tapped his cane rhythmically on the floor, wondering if he ought to mention Allison. He wondered if Stacy would be happy for him. Or jealous. And which outcome he would prefer.

She broke into his thoughts. “Some people would be annoyed by that,” she said, looking pointedly at his cane.

For a moment, he continued tapping, brain still stuck in a loop. _To bring up Alli, or not to bring up Alli?_ That was the question.

He opened his mouth, but what came out was: “You know why people sit in waiting rooms?” _Misdirection._

“This is gonna be good.” Stacy said, sounding amused.

Oh well, he’d started this, may as well see it through. “People think the closer they’re sitting to the operating room, the more they care.” Testing, just to see how Stacy would react.

“That’s why I’m here.” she said, a hint of sarcasm leaking in. “I’m not moving until everybody sees me.”

 _Does she have something to worry about? Me? Someone else?_ Not that he really cared, it was more for curiosity’s sake. “Are you doing anybody besides Mark?” When she looked over at him, he added, “It’s a medical question.”

“Because if I am, his paranoia isn’t paranoia, it’s a justified response? Therefore, not a legitimate symptom?”

 _Yep, she knows me, and how I think,_ really _well._ “Knew you’d understand”, he teased.

“On the other hand,” she continued, “if it _was_ really just a medical question, you would have sent one of your people. Why just push my buttons when you can push theirs, too? ‘Hey, Dr. Mandingo, ask the wife if she’s been messing around.’ You were asking because, if I am unfaithful, I might sleep with you. The answer’s ‘no, I don’t sleep around’. Make sure you note that in his file.”

 _Yeah. Maybe a few months ago, you’d be right about that. About me hoping that you’d want to have an affair with me. But not now_. _Not when I have Alli._ Any retort he may have made was forestalled, however, by the arrival of one ‘Dr. Mandingo’. 

Ignoring House, Foreman addressed Stacy. “Mrs. Warner. The surgery went well. He’s in recovery, you can see him now.” Stacy, looking relieved, got up and left. House stood up himself, much more slowly, and glanced after her, before turning to discuss matters with his Duckling.

 

*~*~*

It was late. Greg had called earlier to say that he wouldn’t be home until probably much later that night, but that she should feel free to stay over at his place if she wanted to. He’d said he was reviewing the video of Mark’s surgery, just to cover all bases. And Allison hadn’t argued with him. For one thing, she recognized he wasn’t going to let this go, until he was _sure_. Typical Greg House stubbornness.

For another, just the fact that he was so nonchalantly accepting of – even inviting – her invasion of his home ‘space’, particularly when he wasn’t even there, brought a feeling of warmth to her belly. They were making strides. Subtle ones, ones that probably would seem fairly inconsequential in any normal relationship. But he wasn’t a normal guy, and these weren’t normal circumstances.

And this also gave her time to plan out her little ‘distraction’. It gave her time to dig through his closet, to make sure that all the bondage gear she thought she might need was where she thought he’d been keeping it. To sit on his bed and try to decide how best to do this. To run through in her mind the various ways she could present this scenario to him. She knew she wanted it to be a surprise, but beyond that, she hadn’t formed a concrete plan yet.

Still considering the matter, she dug through his fridge, assembling a light supper. She sat on his couch and watched a movie, resisting the urge to call him. Best not to break his concentration. The sooner he solved this to his satisfaction, the sooner he’d come home. To her.

After about two hours, she could feel herself getting sleepy, so she grabbed a blanket from the linen closet and then lay back down on the couch, snuggling into it. She supposed she just ought to get into House’s bed – _their_ bed, she supposed – but it would likely feel cold and empty without him. And this way, she’d know the instant he got home. So she laid her head back and closed her eyes.

Sometime later, the phone rang, bringing her out of sleep. Hesitating – she didn’t know, still, if he would prefer her to answer his phone for him if he wasn’t around, or to just let the machine pick up – she decided to let the machine get it.

A moment later, it picked up, and then his voice sounded in the room. “Alli. I need you to come in.”

 

*~*~*

Fifteen minutes later, Allison was in Greg’s office with her fellow coworkers, all of them sleepy and all of them wondering what they were doing here. Well, two of them were wondering that, Allison was wondering what he’d found on the surgery video, that he’d thought it necessary to rouse the whole team from sleep and have them come in.

She watched Greg pop a Vicodin. She looked at the rather empty bottle of whiskey, sitting in plain sight. She knew he liked to have the occasional glass at home, but this drinking at work worried her. Not that he hadn’t done it before, but…it did seem like the bottle was emptying far more quickly than in recent months. Was it because Stacy was here? _I’d better get moving on distracting him soon,_ she thought. _Before it reaches critical mass, and he does something he – and maybe_ other _people – will regret later_.

“Stop looking at the suspiciously empty bottle and look at the screen.” Greg said to her, snapping her from her reverie. “Here’s why I get the big bucks. This is nothing.An enhanced version of nothing.” She waited while he let the tape play a bit. Then he froze the screen. “ _This_ is the problem.”

With the clues right in front of them, it didn’t take long to come up with a new diagnosis: abdominal epilepsy. Thus an underlying neurological problem.

“A time bomb in his brain. I forget, who said it was _nothing_?” And then Greg looked pointedly at her.

She waited until Chase and Eric left the room, before turning back to him, glaring. She folded her arms defensively over her chest. Waiting.

Greg limped over behind his desk, but didn’t sit, instead meeting her stare for stare. “What?”

She was annoyed. Not angry, which was definitely an improvement over how she _used_ to react to him, back before they were an (secret) item, but annoyed. Things were definitely different, _she_ was different. And she decided to go with this newer reaction, so, instead of getting angrier at his stonewalling, instead of yelling or feeling hurt or getting defensive, she only said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you needed to get _laid_.”

She’d caught him off-guard, she saw. _Good._ Let him realize that he didn’t have her all figured out yet. That maybe she was willing to submit to him fully and completely, outside of work, but that this didn’t mean she was predictable, boring. He tried to cover his surprise with a smirk, though, lowering himself carefully into his desk chair. “Maybe I do. Do you know of anyone who’s available?”

“Maybe,” she said, playing along. “But not if you continue to kick her teeth in.” She said it mildly, as if it was nothing to her. Which wasn’t entirely true. But it wasn’t the end of the world, either.

Still, Greg had to realize that there had to be limits to how much abuse he could expect her to take from him at work. Not if he still expected her to want to share his bed, at the end of the day.

“If I got all nice and lovey-dovey towards you, people would suspect something,” he said, sitting back in his chair and playing with his oversized tennis ball. “The rumour mill would work overtime, people would stare at us in the corridors and whisper about us in the cafeteria. Far _more_ uncomfortable.”

Which was exactly what she’d told herself before, wasn’t it? She sighed inwardly. Best to let this go. “Right.” she said. And turned and left, planning to meet up with Chase and Foreman.

 _He’d better watch himself, though,_ she thought. _I’m not going to feel particularly motivated to ‘play’ with him, if he continues to treat me like a doormat at work, especially when Stacy’s around._ Oh well, maybe a few nights of him sleeping by himself would rectify that. It was blackmail of a sort, sure, but just like when she’d blackmailed him into dating her that first time, it was really the only power she had over him. Sucked, but why should he have all the advantages?

 

*~*~*

A day passed, and they were no closer to solving the problem. They’d looked into Alzheimer’s as a possibility, but it seemed unlikely. Allison had, out of curiosity, asked Stacy during a private moment what House had been like before the infarction. And found out that he’d pretty much always been like this. Ah well, she supposed she wasn’t really surprised.

Getting that information out of Stacy had been easy. It had been harder to dodge the other woman’s questions about a possible relationship between House and herself. Allison tried to keep in mind that the monster truck rally and the ill-fated dinner date were the only things that were ‘public knowledge’ to the PPTH rumour mill, and so she stuck to that. She didn’t think Greg would appreciate her outing them to Stacy, not if he hadn’t chosen to reveal this, yet, himself.

So she told Stacy only that she and House had gone out once, and that it ‘hadn’t gone well’. It was the truth, after all. And she listened as the other woman revealed that her own beginnings with House had been less than smooth. 

_Well,_ Allison thought afterwards, _I guess I should feel relieved. Things weren’t picture perfect between them at the beginning, either, and they made it work for five years. Made it work up ‘til his infarction._ So maybe there really was hope for her and Greg, for something long-term and lasting, even with the rough patches that they were still trying to navigate.

_Maybe, if I can just develop a thicker skin around him, particularly at work, it’ll help matters. Especially now._ She’d noticed how Stacy was immune to House’s barbs. How she snarked right back. Maybe that was the way to deal with things. Allison couldn’t change him, but she could change how she _reacted_ to him. 

Perhaps it would be best to put her plan into action as soon as possible, rather than waiting. Rather than withholding, out of revenge? It might even prove to him that she was a better partner than Stacy, that his crap was just water off a duck’s back to her, and that she could still love him for all his good parts. Especially when his private, at-home self, was usually far less cruel than his work self. Especially when she was at his mercy in the bedroom and she saw underneath the spiked armour that guarded him the rest of the time. 

Especially when he let her see the _truth_.

 

*~*~*

_It’s not paranoia if someone’s out to get you._

_No, it’s not,_ House thought. _And I_ am, _aren’t I?_ _Crap._

He’d snuck into the control booth in the PET room. He’d goaded Mark while he’d been in the scanner.

He’d waited while Foreman ran through the boring stuff. Full name, whether his mother was living, Weschler’s test questions, blah blah blah. _Bor-ring._ Then he’d grabbed the microphone, and let ‘er rip. Even while the little voice in his head had argued: _If you’re angry at Stacy, take it out on her. Not Mark. Or better yet, go hang out with Alli for the rest of the day, and go home with her tonight. Hang out with your_ new _woman, in other words. The best revenge is living well._

He’d persisted, though, in goading Mark Warner, telling himself that Stacy needed a strong man, that he was just testing to see if Mark had the mettle. He had the snark, yes, but the snark didn’t make the man.

Then, a few moments later, he told himself that he was just pushing the limits of the testing Foreman was doing, to make doubly sure that nothing was going on. Still trying to convince himself that this was the right thing, medically, to be doing.

But he hadn’t been prepared for his own memories of being with Stacy to be triggered. When Mark had talked about Stacy ripping off her wedding dress in the car, House had another one of those ‘flashbacks’. She’d always loved to have sex immediately after a big official event like that. Every time she won a court case, there’d been the mandatory victory sex afterwards. Not that he’d been complaining at the time. At least not _before_ the infarction…but then he’d once again forced his mind back into the present, back to the scanner room and his patient.

His _patient_.

It was that realization that finally made him stop tormenting Mark. Was this really the right thing to be doing? Could he _really_ justify this medically, in any way, shape, or form? It was feeling like a stretch, now, even to someone who so frequently disregarded the rules. Man, he _hated_ being indecisive.

 _I_ am _out to get him_ , he thought again, getting up and leaving the scanner booth. At what point did this shift from a diagnostic examination to an act of revenge? Or had he been taking his revenge out on Mark the whole time? Not a pleasant thought. _Crap._

*~*~*

Once she decided on something, she didn’t like to wait long to carry it out. She and Greg were similar in that way. So since Mr. Warner didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, and since the PET scan hadn’t revealed any likely causes, she decided to spring her ‘surprise’ on House at lunchtime that day. He’d probably welcome the opportunity to get out of Clinic duty anyways, if they ran over-time – he’d just tell Cuddy that he’d been off on a fact-finding B&E trip back to Stacy’s place, or something.

So she’d snuck out of PPTH, headed over to Greg’s place, and then called and asked him to join her at his home for an hour or so. And once he’d agreed (sounding _very_ suspicious), she’d gone into his (their, by now?) bedroom to prepare.

Fancy bra and thong panties? Check. Stockings and garter belt? Check. Black shoes with sexy (and ridiculously high) stiletto heels? Check. It was the rest that was a bit harder. She’d found two pairs of fur-lined leather cuffs in his closet, plus some rope, but there was nearly no way for her to bind her own hands together, especially behind her back like she’d planned, not using that arrangement. But a little more digging in his closet had produced something better – a pair of metal handcuffs, with a little furry sleeve around the actual cuffs, so it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. _Where and when did he get all this stuff?_ she asked herself in amusement. _I guess he got it to use on Stacy._ But then she quashed that train of thought. _Let’s not go there_.

She sat on the bed in her sexy underthings. And then proceeded to tie herself up. First she buckled the leather cuffs around her ankles, and then tied the cuffs together with the short length of rope she’d found. With that completed, it was time to cuff her hands behind her back with the metal handcuffs. But she didn’t want to do that right away, just in case Greg took awhile to show up, and she needed to get free in the interim. So for now, she just locked one cuff around her left wrist and sat on his bed, listening for him at the door.

When the keys rattled in the lock a short time later, her impulse was to lock her right hand into the cuff immediately. But then she paused, just in case it wasn’t him. Not that she really expected a stranger would choose to break in, right on the same day and time that she’d planned this little ‘distraction’ for Greg, but…it was actually far more likely that it was Wilson. Coming to pick something up for Greg, for example. But either way, she wanted to make sure that it was her boyfriend, before she committed to this.

She heard the door open, and then came the familiar sound of cane-thumps, and she knew it was time to get the show on the road. So she put both hands behind her back, closing the second cuff around her free wrist, and waited for Greg to find her.

 

*~*~*

He’d been a little surprised to get back to the Diagnostic Conference areas and have Foreman and Chase tell him that Cameron had left, claiming that she had a really bad stomachache. He’d been even more surprised to get a call from her not very long afterwards, asking him to come home and spend his lunch-break with her. 

But he’d agreed fairly quickly, for him. He still couldn’t figure out what was causing Mark’s symptoms, and sitting in his office and staring at the four walls thus far hadn’t given him an answer. And he really _really_ didn’t want to do Clinic duty. Well, he never did, that was true, but he really wasn’t in the mood right now. Not when he preferred to focus, medically and mentally, on Mark’s problem. So that they could cure him and get Mark and his lovely wife the fuck off of House’s turf. So maybe a quick change of scenery over lunch would refresh the old synapses a bit.

It was a quick drive home. He limped in, shutting the door behind him, but Alli was nowhere in evidence. “Allison?”

“In the bedroom!” he heard her reply.

 _Lunch in bed?_ he asked himself, smirking. Worked for him. He shed his coat and blazer, and then limped towards the bedroom. But when he got to the doorway and saw her, he found himself freezing in shock. And then wondering frantically what the Hell to do.

Not because she didn’t look totally _hot_. Lacy black bra and thong panties, matching garter and stockings, stiletto heels – _Those definitely qualify as ‘fuck-me’ shoes,_ he thought - very nice. And he couldn’t deny that finding her here, tied up and apparently at his mercy, with that sultry little smile on her face, was already making ‘Little Greg’ twitch inside his jeans. Zero-to-sixty in record time.

And yet, he realized he was _tired_. He’d been making decisions all day, been wracking his noggin trying to figure out Mark’s diagnosis, trying to fend off his feelings over his past with Stacy, and he was _tired_. OK, his leg and back and shoulder weren’t as fatigued and achy as they often were at the end of a long day, but mentally, he just wasn’t in any kind of headspace to dominate someone. _Shit, what the Hell do I do now?_ He didn’t want to refuse her outright, not after she’d gone to this much effort. He didn’t want to dissuade her from doing this ever again, because yeah, how many girlfriends would even think of doing this? Stacy certainly hadn’t. Not even close.

“Thought you could use a little lunch-break ‘surprise’.” Allison said to him, trying to cover her sudden uneasiness with banter. Why was he just standing there? Had she offended him somehow? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Definitely a surprise,” House said, stalling. “I see you want to climb ‘MountGregory’. That doesn’t happen to me often at lunch, that’s for sure.” He made himself leer at her. “Not once Cuddy warned the nurses that they were taking too long and disturbing the patients in the waiting room with their screams of ecstasy, anyway.”

Allison laughed, but still felt a bit uneasy. Had this been a mistake? He wasn’t exactly leaping into his typical role with his usual amount of enthusiasm. Nervous, she twisted her wrists against the handcuffs.

 _Shit, you’re supposed to be a genius, so_ think _of something_ , he berated himself. “Excuse me for a moment, Alli, I need to go ‘freshen up’.” So saying, he limped quickly off to the bathroom.

 

*~*~*

He splashed water on his face, and then shed his button-down, dropping it on the counter. _There must be a way that we can both be happy. Alli will get the playtime she wants, and I don’t have to exert energy that I don’t have…_

He glared at himself in the mirror, wracking his brain…and then a light-bulb went off. _Aha! I_ am _a genius!_

Grinning evilly, he made his way back to the bedroom, and to his unsuspecting girlfriend.

*~*~*

When House reappeared, Allison felt most of her worries dissipate. He looked much more _interested_ now, giving her a slow, lecherous once-over as he limped into the room. _Maybe he just needed a minute to ‘reboot’,_ she decided. He stood in front of her, still inspecting.

“Nice tie-up job, little girl,” he complimented her, letting his gaze run slowly over her lovely helpless body. Watching her shudder at the low commanding note in his voice. “You did that just for me, huh? Such a _naughty_ girl you are, trying to turn me on in the middle of a work-day. Aren’t you?”

She made herself look up at him, gazing into his cobalt blue eyes, smiling coyly. “Yes.”

He reached out, stroking her cheek lightly with the back of his hand. “Lucky for you, I _like_ naughty girls. I like doing all sorts of dirty things with them. To them. Does that interest you, little one?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, laughing low.

He leaned down and kissed her, then, pushing his tongue aggressively into her mouth, letting his hands skim over her body, over rough lace and silky fabric and even silkier skin and hair, breathing in the familiar scents of floral perfume, pear shampoo, _Allison_. And he got even harder, thinking about the little surprise of his own that he planned to spring on her, in return.

His hands were all over her, caressing her so lightly that it was a tease. Fingers glancing across her nipples, tantalizing her through the lace, making them ache and stiffen. Callused palms brushing against her legs, brushing over bare skin and stockinged skin alike. His knuckles sweeping over the crotch of her panties, so lightly she could barely feel his touch through the thin material, and she moaned, pushing her hips forward, silently urging him to touch her more, harder, quicker.

But instead, he got up and moved away. Sitting down on a chair a few paces away from the bed. _What the hell is he doing?_ she thought, not understanding why he had stopped.

Poor Alli, she looked _so_ confused. He’d better clear things up for her. Awarding her his most salacious leer, he explained, “While your Master appreciates all the effort you’ve gone to, to surprise me, I’m feeling a bit _lazy_ right now. So if you want me to do anything to that sweet little body of yours – anything at all – you’re going to have to tell me what to do. Step-by-step. And in detail. _Lots_ of detail. You know how precise I like to be.”

 _He’s_ serious. _Oh, crap._ This wasn’t exactly what she’d bargained for. But after a few moments of looking at him pleadingly and trying to wriggle enticingly, all of which got her nothing but more leering, she finally decided that she might as well play along. If she wouldn’t get anything out of him without asking first, then he’d left her no choice, had he?

“Fine, you win. Come back here and kiss me.” Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, probably from the fact that he’d gotten her all hot and bothered and then just let her stew while he made his pronouncement from on high. But he didn’t react negatively to her tone, just grinned smugly and pushed himself out of the chair, limping back towards her. “Such a good little sub,” he purred, standing in front of her again and bending down.

But he only let his lips brush over hers, in the lightest of caresses, before he stood up again. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d insisted upon _detailed_ instructions. He had to restrain a grin of satisfaction at the frustrated look on her face. “What?” he asked, pretending innocence. “You asked me to kiss you, and I _did_.”

Covering her frustration (desperation) with a glare, she clarified. “With _tongue_.”

“Oh. You should’ve told me before, little girl.” Chuckling evilly to himself, he bent to kiss her again, but this time swiping his tongue across her lips, ignoring the invitation of her opened mouth, and again stood back up to his full height, leaning his weight on his cane, as if his task was done.

 _Bastard_ , Allison thought, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He really intended to make her work for every sensation, did he? Fine. “French kiss me. You know, open-mouthed? With your tongue in my mouth, so I can taste you? Shall I draw you a _diagram_ , House?”

He chuckled much louder, this time, admiring the lovely high colour in her cheeks. “You can’t, my pretty little girl, your hands are still tied. But I will honour your _specific_ request.”

Any reply she might have made was interrupted by House finally giving her a real kiss, this time. His tongue slid into her mouth, tasting of coffee, rough against her teeth. She made a small soft sound in her throat, enjoying every sensation. Every movement of his tongue, every tingle of his stubble against her face. Scents of cologne and soap and musk. Greg was without a doubt a _great_ kisser.

But then he pulled away and stood up again, obviously waiting for her next ‘instruction’. Swallowing equal measures of embarrassment and frustration, Allison made herself speak. “I want to feel your mouth on my throat. I want to feel your tongue on my skin.” She could feel her face heating up even more. God, this was _so_ not like her.

House couldn’t stop himself from grinning a little mockingly at her discomfort, but he soon sat on the bed next to her, leaning his mouth to her throat. No surprise that she’d asked for that next, he knew how much she enjoyed being kissed there. He let his lips brush gently over her soft skin, feeling her pulse beating quickly against him, let his stubble tickle her nerve endings. And then teasing her with his tongue, tracing wet lines on her skin. He had to resist the urge to exhale on the wet spots, cooling them. She hadn’t requested that – yet – after all.

She shuddered in pleasure, pressing her neck against her lover’s mouth. She could feel her nipples tingling, pressing against the lace that contained him, and she knew she wanted him to touch her there, next. She supposed that was one of the advantages of getting to instruct him – if she wanted him to do something right _now_ , instead of making her wait, teasing her, he didn’t have much choice. Not by the rules he himself had just set. Now, if she could only do this without dying of humiliation…

He stopped and sat back, watching her expectantly, and she had to lower her eyes from his piercing gaze. Even harder to do this, while meeting his eyes. But she was also hungry for more. Haltingly, she finally managed to say, “I want you to suck on my nipples.”

“Mmmm, tasty.” House replied, smirking. He leaned in once again, bracing a callused hand on her hip, and then suckled the nearest nipple very gently…through the lace of her bra. _She didn’t ask me to take it off her, first, after all_ , he thought. Amused.

 _Goddamn it_ , she swore. Of course, he’d taken her at her word. Again. “House!” she hissed.

He sat back and put on his best ‘wounded-innocent’ expression. “What? Isn’t that what you _wanted_ , little girl?”

No! Take my bra off, first. _Master._ ” That last bit said mockingly. Frustration was making her bolder, he noticed. _Good_.

Cleverly, she’d worn a strapless brassiere, so he could remove it entirely even though her wrists were still bound. He reached around her, freeing the clasps, and then tossed the item onto the foot of the bed. “And now…what did you want, again?” he asked, scrunching up his brow as if he’d already ‘forgotten’.

Gritting her teeth, Allison reminded him, “Suck. On. My. Nipples.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right! You’ll have to forgive me, Alli. We _old_ men have memories like a sieve, sometimes.” He took the nearest nipple into his mouth, this time suckling firmly, tantalizing the tip with his tongue inside his mouth. How he loved the taste of her skin… _all_ parts of her skin.

“Don’t forget the other one,” she reminded him. “And I want to feel your teeth, too”, she added, wanting _more_ from him. He obliged her immediately, taking hold of her and turning her until he could reach her other nipple easily, now nipping and gnawing gently on the tip in addition to sucking on her, and she moaned and pressed her breast harder against him, not caring that his stubble was scraping against her delicate flesh.

He finally pulled back once more, smirking, waiting for her next request. Admiring his lovely partner. Admiring her upright pink nipples, the sexy flush spreading through her face and neck and upper chest, the way the lacy black thong and garters framed her legs and hips so beautifully. _I am one_ lucky _man_ , he thought, smirking even more.

She wanted him, wanted to feel his mouth between her thighs. But she found herself resisting saying the words. She needed him to quench the ache, to give her that intimate contact that they both enjoyed so thoroughly. But saying the _words_ …. _Start with something easy,_ she coached herself. “Untie my feet,” she said, voice now a little hoarse with her need. She supposed he could still have managed to get his tongue inside her, even with her thighs so close together, but having her legs free was better. She could spread herself wide, could feel more that way.

He gave her an amused eyebrow raise, wondering just where she was going with this, but he didn’t challenge her, just leaned down to see how she’d trussed herself. He liked the way those black leather cuffs looked against her black stockings, around her delicate ankles, so he just unknotted and removed the rope binding the cuffs together, leaving the latter still buckled around her. _Nice visual_.

Once he’d finished freeing her feet and sat back up, Allison thought quickly about what to do and say next. This was so much harder to do, with his intense gaze practically eating her _alive_. Hot, yes, but also embarrassing. Then, she came up with an idea.

She turned, facing away from him, showing him her bound wrists. “Re-cuff my hands in front of me.” He did that for her, too, still smirking. She then got up, moving carefully since her legs were a little unsteady, and made her way over to the head of the bed, bending over at the waist and wrapping her hands around the nearest bed-post. Then she looked over at him. “Get behind me.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he quipped, saluting smartly. Pushing himself up off the mattress, he limped speedily over to her, stopping on his way to snag the chair. He positioned the chair right behind her, between her spread legs. Then sat there, admiring her ass. _Hey, why waste the view?_

Allison licked her lips. This was the _easy_ part. “Take my panties off.” The dark answering chuckle behind her nearly made her shiver. “Thought’d you’d never ask, little girl.” She felt his hands on her, slowly sliding the now-damp material over her butt, down her stockinged thighs and ankles and calves, down over her cuffed ankles and shoe-clad feet, the thong getting caught for a second on one of those ridiculous heels. She spread her legs wider, feeling her skin prickle, certain that House was devouring the sight of her, practically feeling his eyes sweeping up and down.

Her throat was dry. _What’s the big deal?_ she coached herself. “I want you to-“ Her voice faltered. This was so bloody _hard_.

Come on, Alli.” he said, his voice a low purr. “I want to give you what you want. What you _need_. How can I do that, if you won’t instruct me? If you don’t let me know exactly what would _please_ you?” He tried not to sound too amused by the whole enterprise. Pissing Alli off wasn’t the point. Maybe occasionally at work – old habits died hard, after all – but not in the bedroom. Not unless he wanted to get stuck sleeping on the couch. _Perish the thought._

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to encourage her or to tease her, but she tried again. “I want you to…lick me.” _God, no way he’s going to let me get away with that_.

He didn’t. “Lick _what_ , sweetheart? You’ll have to be more specific.”

More gritting of teeth. Shit, she was supposed to be a doctor, for Chrissake’s. It was just anatomical terms. In a rush, she finally got out: “ _Iwantyoutolickmyvaginaandmyclitoris_.” She felt heat in her cheeks, and knew her face was probably bright red. At least Greg couldn’t see it, though.

“Clarification. It’s a beautiful thing. And so are _you_ , Alli.” he said, pleased. He knew he’d embarrassed her, but she’d survive the momentary humiliation. Working for him ought to have thickened her skin, besides. And ‘Little Greg’ was most definitely enjoying this, hearing Alli’s demands, even if some discomfort was still evident from her tone.

But now for Alli’s reward…sort of. He pulled the chair closer, and then wrapped one arm around her, holding her in place. He couldn’t resist nuzzling her dark curls for a moment, breathing in her scent. That personal, sweet perfume he would never mistake for anyone else’s. _Not even in the dark. Blindfolded. Mmmm, maybe later._ He grinned inwardly.

He followed her instructions, but as he’d been doing all along, initially probably not the way she’d wanted him to. So he licked, up and down along her outer lips, wetting her hair, teasing her. Lightly. She hadn’t specified how _hard_ to lick, after all.

He opened her with his hand, spreading delicate pink folds, and licked those too, savouring the familiar flavour, feeling her shudder. Hearing her moan. Still, his tongue was brushing her skin with just the barest of touches, and he could practically feel her shaking with impatience, wanting him to touch her harder, to move faster. But except for her moans, she stayed silent. So he continued teasing, spreading her wider, baring her swollen clit to his touch. Stroking his tongue as lightly as he could possibly manage over the throbbing little button.

And yet, he soon realized that she wasn’t the only one fighting to stick to the rules. He was fighting, too, fighting not to suck on her, fighting not to push his fingers inside her and feel her strong muscles clutch eagerly at his fingers. Fighting to ignore the insistent pulsing of his erection, that _demanded_ that he abandon the game and take her quick and hard and fast, right now.

His tongue felt like wet silk, sliding all over her, in sharp contrast to the sandpaper feel of his chin and cheeks, grazing lightly against her. It was maddening, _he_ was maddening, and she finally tried desperately to increase the pressure of his mouth against her. Pushing back against his lips, trying now to drive him non-verbally. But he only chuckled, the sound vibrating against her, and moved back, just far enough away to maintain the status quo. To continue to give and deny at the same time.

Finally, she gave in. Frustration finally forcing her to throw all propriety to the winds. “Goddammit, House, _suck_ me!” She pushed back against him again, to punctuate her words, almost overbalancing on those fucking heels. Belatedly, she specified: “Suck my _clit_!”

He answered her, but not with words, instead wrapping his mouth around the spot in question and giving her what she wanted…but he’d barely started before she choked out: “Harder!” It was happening, she was starting to let her inner animal, her self in its most raw and primitive form, out to play with him. He got even harder in his jeans, if that was possible, and obeyed her demand, sucking hard on her, making the most obscene slurping noises he could manage. Enjoying every moment, every shiver and taste and scent and sound of her.

It felt so good, but she’d been frustrated for so long that she wanted more, and wanted it _now_. And to Hell with modesty and decorum and all that shit. She _needed_ this. “Push your fingers inside me- inside my pussy-“ If he was shocked by her behaviour, he certainly wasn’t letting it slow his reactions, because his fingers invaded her immediately, both soothing and driving the ache inside her, and she pushed her hips against his hand and his face, and ordered him to thrust his fingers in and out of her.

She was right on the edge. He couldn’t _see_ it, couldn’t see the telltale flushing of her skin, but he could feel it, feel the heat gathering in her body, feel her muscles all clenching and stiffening, could hear her gasping rhythmically…and then she startled him by suddenly falling into her climax, _igniting_.

After a few moments, her body sagged, and he put his other arm around her, holding her up, letting his cheek rest – carefully, he knew his stubble was pretty rough – on one luscious cheek of her ass. _Gorgeous_ , he thought.

A few moments passed. She should have been sated. She should have been looking to give _him_ his pleasure. She should have been ordering him to sit back and open his pants, and then ridden him like some kind of crazed cowgirl.

But an image had flashed through her mind, just at the point of orgasm, and it had stayed with her. The image of them in the clinic exam room after hours. Her strapped to the exam table with her feet up in the stirrups, and Greg using his _cane_. And not in a traditional fashion, either for walking or for corporal ‘punishment’, oh no. And she realized she wanted that. Right. Now.

She was covered in sweat, flushed and still quivering in the aftermath, but apparently he had created a sexual monster ( _Yum_ ) because she looked back over her shoulder at him, and rasped: “Go get the cane you used on me, that night at the Clinic.”

He was surprised – he was pretty sure he was giving her ‘surprised-face’ right now – but he didn’t contradict her. _I’ve got her so revved up, she’ll probably_ kill _me if I refuse her._ Not that he had any intention of doing so. Not a chance. He grabbed his current – the wrong - cane and limp-raced to his study. Finding it, he frowned and brushed his hand over the dust that had already gathered on the unused handle. _Don’t worry,_ he said to himself, _you’re gonna put a condom over this anyways_.

Allison looked over at House as he returned. He thumped into the room, using one cane and carrying the other, bestowing one of his trademark leers upon her. She was about to demand that he put a condom on the cane, but before she could even open her mouth, he was at the nighttable, rummaging through the top drawer.

He tore the packet open and unrolled the rubber over the handle of his old cane, and then headed back towards his chair. But apparently she had some other orders for him to meet, first, as she glanced back over her shoulder at him again, and said, “I want you to tie my hands to the bedpost.”

 _Oh, that’s right, she’s just holding onto it._ He could definitely change that. The rope that had formerly been in service between her ankles was still on the bed, so he snagged it and then moved to her side, reaching over and grasping the cuffs on her wrists. He wound the rope a couple times around the chain linking the cuffs together, and then wound the free ends tightly around the post a few times, finally knotting them firmly.

She tugged experimentally a few times as he moved away, but the bonds held. Exactly what she’d wanted. She heard the shift and creak of him sitting down in the chair again. She took a deep breath. Some of her modesty had returned, now that she was no longer feeling so frustrated. And besides, he hadn’t exactly capitalized on –mocked- her embarrassment. Not like he often did _outside_ the bedroom…

House waited. Not only because it was part of the game, but also because it suddenly occurred to him that she hadn’t specified what she wanted him to do to her with the cane. He’d automatically assumed that she wanted to resume the sort of thing he’d done to her that night in the Clinic, but maybe she actually wanted something else? Maybe she actually wanted him to _cane_ her? He didn’t want to refuse her, but that wasn’t really his thing. Although his desk might disagree, he’d whacked it on more than a few occasions. And the occasional violent patient. But then again, she’d seen him going for the condoms and she hadn’t instructed him otherwise, so-

Allison wet her lips. Made herself speak. Fuck decorum. She wasn’t in the mood to be teased and frustrated any more today. “Put the handle inside me. Push it into my pussy.” She spread her thighs wider, waiting.

 _Christ, it’s_ hot _, hearing her talk dirty_. He’d have to push her like this more often. It certainly made him ache – in more pleasing places than his thigh – quite nicely. He leaned forward, spreading her folds open, and carefully inserted the tip of the cane handle into her.

She tried to push back, impatient, but unlike before, when she could stretch her grip a little off the bedpost and gain an inch or so of leeway, now she was tied securely and couldn’t move back any further. “More!” she demanded, instead.

Greg pushed the handle deeper inside her. It felt strange, but _good_ at the same time. It was very hard, and it wasn’t shaped quite the right way, so it was a little uncomfortable. But at the same time, feeling that inflexible hardness inside her, feeling it stretch her to accommodate its shape, knowing it was Greg’s cane, knowing Greg was _watching_ her take it into her body, it all added fuel to the fire starting to build inside her again.

She wanted to thrust, to push back against the invader, so she shifted forward slightly, forcing Greg to move forward to stay within her. And then there was enough room for her to move, pushing her hips backwards and forwards, feeling the handle move roughly within her.

“Careful,” Greg said behind her, in that soft voice that she mostly heard in the bedroom, rarely at home together in other contexts, and _never_ at work. “Don’t hurt yourself, Alli.” She fought to get control, slowing her pace. Well, she’d just have to find another way to heighten her pleasure. “Touch my clit,” she gasped.

He reached out and touched her – _God, she was_ so _wet!_ – letting his fingertips work the tiny node in caressing circles. She was moving slower now, more cautiously against the cane-handle, so he made himself stop worrying about the possibility that she’d hurt or damage herself. Instead, he concentrated on enjoying the sounds she was making, the feel of her, the unbelievably arousing sight of her screwing herself with _his_ ‘walking aid’. Watching her skin flush, becoming newly dampened with sweat, listening to her breathing become harsher, faster, deeper.

She knew if she kept at this long enough, she’d come again, but she suddenly wanted Greg inside her. She wanted to push back hard against something, wanted to feel him thrust inside her with nearly bruising force. Neither of which would work in the current arrangement.

She twisted her head and looked back over her shoulder at him once more. “House. Lose the cane and _fuck_ me!”

For a moment, his jaw went slack in surprise. Not that he’d never heard her say ‘fuck’ before, but this was the first time she’d ever done it in this context. Well, actually, she’d said something to the effect of ‘You haven’t fucked me _yet_ ’ when he’d been playing the big bad kidnapper/rapist, but that wasn’t quite the same. _Guh_.

He slipped the cane carefully out of her, but then let it fall to the floor with a bang. Fumbling to get his clothes off as quickly as possible. Jeans and boxers wound up crumpled on the floor in short order, and he yanked off his tee shirt, reaching and rummaging in the nighttable for another prophylactic. Stupid, that he hadn’t grabbed one for himself, earlier. Whatever.

In record time, he was back between her thighs, sheathed in latex, and easing himself inside her. _Oh, God_. In the back of his mind, it occurred to him that he could continue the game, that he could go _slow_ , inching his way in and out of her…but he found himself moving rapidly inside her instead, thrusting deeply, his own hunger driving him, and the rules went out the window. Which was just fine by him. It felt utterly perfect and right to be inside her. Not to mention the things she was saying-

She gasped as soon as he entered her, and then started to push back aggressively, meeting his every thrust, words spilling almost reflexively from her lips, “Oh God, yes, Greg… _fuck_ me…harder…deeper, _yes_! Oh God, feels _so_ good… _Greg_...”

He had no staying power at all this time, couldn’t hold back. Utterly impossible. She was too hot and too tight around him, the things she was saying, the animal within her calling to him, her passion driving his own. Heat speared him from balls to chest, and he growled low and whispered, “ _Yessssssss_ , there’s a good girl,” giving one last forceful shove and expending himself inside her.

She felt him freeze, pulsing inside her, and she arched her back, pushing her hips hard against his body a final time. Joining him in his climax, shudders racing through her, closing her eyes as flashing lights spun and circled and danced inside her head.

They both sagged, but House managed to extricate himself and untie her before one or both of them wound up in a heap on the hardwood. And so they were soon lying on the bedspread, holding each other, waiting for their bodies to recover.

Finally, House managed to rouse himself enough to speak. “That’s the _tastiest_ lunch-break I’ve had in a very long time. Well, actually, _ever_. But I should probably get going before Cuddy realizes I’m not in the Clinic. I can’t let her cut my balls off, I need them for our bedroom activities.”

She giggled, but she knew he was right. They separated and then headed to the bathroom to clean up, and then started to dress themselves. Or rather, House started to dress himself, Allison had to undress first, getting rid of the bondage gear and the sexy black lingerie, and _then_ she got dressed. 

“That was wonderful, Greg. Although…” she paused, feeling her face get red once again. Feeling shocked and embarrassed, now that she was thinking back over some of the things she’d said while they were playing. “God, I can’t _believe_ the things I just said.” she muttered, surprised at herself. What the Hell had gotten into her? What must Greg think?

Despite her low voice, he heard her clearly. He should’ve known she’d get all self-conscious and embarrassed. He strode over to her and took her chin in his hand, making her look up at him. “ _Stop_ that. Stop second-guessing yourself. For one thing, hearing you talk like that was hot as Hell.” He made sure to give her his trademark leer. “And in case you doubt _that_ , you may have noticed I went from entry to climax in under sixty seconds. I don’t get my rocks off that quickly for _nothing_ , you know.”

Before she could answer, he leaned down and kissed her. Releasing her chin, he reminded her, “And, besides the fact it was totally a turn-on, if you hadn’t been so ‘direct’, neither of us would’ve seen any action for quite a bit longer. And then we’d be much later for work than we are now. And Cuddy would probably kill both of us, slowly and inventively. So you were just doing the _responsible_ thing.”

He was giving her his ‘serious-face’, but the amused look in his eyes was spoiling the overall effect. Still, since he appeared to have enjoyed her dirty talk so thoroughly, Allison decided it was rather silly to continue feeling embarrassed about it. He wasn’t the type to stay silent if something displeased him, after all. Feeling better about the whole thing, she followed him to the bedroom door.

House limped on ahead, but then leered back over his shoulder at her, as another thought occurred to him. “Besides, I always knew there was a wild animal under that sweet and innocent exterior. It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for, after all. And you don’t want to ‘bottle’ those things up. Or so they say in first-year psych, as I recall.”

He made his way into the living room, and she followed, grinning to herself at his last comment. “I think they were referring to bottling up anger, and other _negative_ emotions.” she argued, but she was only joking around.

“Stop arguing with your boss. That’s an _order_.” He said this dramatically and shot a mock glare at her, before glancing at his watch. Then he looked back up at her, his expression softening. “You can take a little extra time to rest if you need it, Alli,” he continued in a more serious tone. “I’ve _no_ clue what’s up with Mark Warner, and I’ve got Clinic duty for the next couple hours, so it won’t bother me if you’re a bit late-“

“No, I’ll come in with you.” she said. She might as well tackle his mail, if no other tests for Mark presented themselves. The pile on his desk was starting to resemble the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

They both threw on their coats and walked outside. A brief snarky argument (with no real heat behind it) ensued, with each of them wanting to drive their car and chauffeur the other person, but finally Allison let Greg have his way.

Starting the car, House put on his sunglasses and turned the radio to a lower volume. And then turned to Allison. “Thanks.”

She raised her eyebrow. “For what?” she asked, playing coy.

“For that…distraction. Really hit the spot.”

“Very welcome. Now get us to work, before Cuddy decides she needs to kill _both_ of us. She could legitimately accuse me of ‘aiding and abetting’, you know.” Greg grinned at her, and then busied himself with the business of driving.

Allison leaned back in her seat, alternately watching the scenery outside and sneaking glances at Greg, who had something of a smug grin on his face. She felt a little sore between her legs – possibly because of the use of House’s cane handle, possibly just because of the rough, passionate way they’d made love, maybe both – but it felt _good_ , too. She didn’t know if this little lunch-time adventure was going to make the rest of the day – nor any of the rest of the days they’d be working on this case – any easier on either of them, but it hadn’t hurt to try.

They were silent the rest of the way. Until they pulled into the parking lot. There was no one around to see them, so Allison waited until Greg had parked, and then leaned over and kissed him. “I love you,” she said. And then turned and opened her door. She didn’t really expect much of a reply in return from him. The closest he’d come to that sort of thing was telling her that he cared about her ‘a lot’, but that’d been already quite the admission for him. She’d decided early on in their relationship that a) she was going to say those three words to him only occasionally, to minimize his discomfort as much as possible, and b) that it didn’t bother her if she didn’t get an ‘I love you, too’, back. That wasn’t _him_. And besides, he’d been telling her that kind of thing _physically_ , in the bedroom, ever since this they’d begun this….whatever it was. And that was enough, coming from the likes of Gregory House.

She felt his hand on her elbow, holding her back for a moment, and she turned and looked at him. “I know. I’d _noticed_. And as Martha Stewart would say, ‘It’s a _good_ thing’.” And then he ended this rather unusual return to her declaration with a Grade-A House-certified leer. “C’mon, let’s do a drive-by run of the cafeteria. You didn’t get anything to eat, and all I had to eat was _you_. Tastes great, but less _filling_.” More leering.

Shaking her head and giggling, she pulled her arm free of his hand, and they both got out of the car. Walking towards PPTH as if they’d done nothing more illicit than go to Stacy Warner’s place to do a little medically-motivated B&E. Which was still illicit, come to think of it, but…not the same thing, not at all.

It was time to get back to work, trying to solve the puzzle that Mark Warner’s illness presented.


	6. A Hard Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House tries to reclaim some things from his pre-infarction life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Yes, I own House. Honest. So gimme.  
> Betas: Many thanks as always to katakombs. And thanks as well to my special guest beta, _lot49_, for her help with the mechanics (no pun intended) of bike!sex.  
> Author’s Notes: AU, but still very spoilery for both the S1 and S2 seasons of House.

The events of the last few days replayed themselves over and over in his brain.

_If you think you're right, you don't give a damn what they think. I did what you do all the time. The only difference is, I did it to you._

It was true, of course. Although whether she'd _actually_ saved his life was, in his view, debatable.

But that _was_ the reason he’d finally overrode Mark's wishes and stuck him with the AIP cocktail. Because House had been so sure it would work. So sure that he’d been _right_.

So Stacy had a point, loathe as House was to admit it. That she’d just done to him what he’d always done - without a moment’s hesitation - to the people under his care. But he couldn't let himself dwell on that. On the memory of how betrayed he'd felt when Stacy had pulled a 'House' on him. If he started thinking about it from the patient's perspective, it would block him, paralyze him, keep him from doing his job. If he out himself into his patient’s shoes in this way, he might not do what was necessary to save their lives. And this would destroy his _one thing_ , as John Henry Giles had put it.

But this led to other uncomfortable ruminations.

_One thing._

_One thing._

_One thing._

_One._

The _One._

_I'm not over you. You were, you were_ the one, _you always will be. But I can't be with you._

_How nice of her to say so._ His own bitterness surprised him, even now. Why had she bothered saying that? Five long years had passed, she was married, House himself was involved with Cameron (and Stacy _knew_ ). Did this mean Stacy was thinking of leaving Mark? Or had she said it just to mess with him, despite the way he'd saved her husband? Her final revenge for him making her life so miserable all those months after the debridement? He wasn’t the only person capable of bearing grudges, after all.

_Stacy's husband is going to need close monitoring at the hospital.And since we can definitely use her back here, I've offered her a job. General Counsel._

That was a train wreck waiting to happen. He didn't need the strain on his first real relationship in five years. He didn't need Stacy here to grate on him. Whether she was trying to get back at him, or with him, or to ruin his existing relationship or not. He could sabotage his relationship with Allison all by himself, thanks very much, he didn’t need Stacy around to ‘help’ him with that. 

And yet, what could he have done? If he'd told Cuddy no, then Stacy would think that she'd won, that she'd gotten to him, gotten under his skin. And his pride just wouldn't let him do that. Right or wrong, she'd removed all hope for normal mobility and a pain-free existence from him. He wasn't about to give up his pride, too. No way. Other than his ‘one thing’, his pride was really all he had left of his old self.

Besides, he could handle it. He’d have to.

 

*~*~*

Well, apparently, he couldn’t handle it. _Crap._

Stacy had been here less than a week, and House was already taking his frustration out on Alli.

He knew he was doing it, but he just couldn’t stop himself. At least at work. At home, he was still managing to keep most of his cutting remarks to himself. It was like the threshold of his home was some kind of boundary. Within his residence, Stacy’s influence couldn’t penetrate. So he’d made some progress, at least. 

But once he was at work, the wheels came off. It was like watching another person. 

He knew there were better ways to deal with Alli and her obsessive need to try to save that patient with metastatic squamous cell lung cancer. Whats-her-name. CindyLouWho.

He knew he could try to be supportive, instead. Be a better mentor. Sit down and talk with her about her issues with death. Or at least, try and _understand_ her issues. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Taunting her instead with a recitation of that ‘five stages of dying’ nonsense. 

_By dying, I meant no matter what we do.Very, very soon, she is going to be dead.That still too subtle?_

It made him wince inwardly, just thinking about those harsh words. And not just because there was a risk he’d be sleeping alone if he kept this up. _Get a grip_ , he thought savagely. He had to stop this. Had to stop taunting Alli and making her ( _using_ her) do his Clinic hours in return for those unnecessary tests on Cindy Lou. 

The useless ‘Can I trust you? Do you trust me?’ games with Stacy also had to stop. He hadn’t trusted her then, and he didn’t now. And neither did she. And that was fine. Why should things be different now, than they had been since she’d gone behind his back and ordered the debridement? Had something changed? _No_. _Neither of us should have expected otherwise._

He needed her to do her job, when he needed her help to save a patient. That was it. The rest was irrelevant.

_Are you trying to get me fired?If you didn't want me working here why didn't you just say so?_

_I just don't want you working right here - in my office.Anywhere else in the building is fine, it's a really big hospital._

He would just use her the way he used every lawyer in the hospital, he promised himself. To save his patients. _She’s no different than any other hospital lawyer. That’s all._ He kept repeating that to himself, as he prepared to go treat Death Row Patient for his copier toner ingestion.

He’d have to think some more about how to fix things with Alli. Later.

 

*~*~*

Allison had a low-grade headache. She’d had it for several days already. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t because of Stacy Warner. That Greg was just being his usual snarky self, that he’d always handled her ‘death issues’ with his usual heavy-handed manner, and this business with Cindy Kramer was no different.

But she knew better. It was true that while they were alone together, at home, things seemed unchanged. And she was grateful for that. But at PPTH? It was like once Greg stepped through the front doors, he went back to being _House_. A rude, even cruel, man. One who looked for any excuse to attack the soft underbelly. _It’s not my imagination,_ Allison thought to herself, searching through the hospital for the man in question. She didn’t know how much longer Stacy would be staying, but if this was how Greg was going to act while she was around, Allison hoped Mark got better _really_ soon. 

She didn’t know why she kept going to see Greg about Cindy. It was like bending over and inviting him to punish her. And not in a naughty, sexy way, like their bedroom activities. No, this was like inviting him to use her as his doormat. _Not_ sexy.

But she couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to tell Cindy the diagnosis, not until she was absolutely sure. Maybe it was ridiculous for her to waste her time and energy confirming a terminal diagnosis. But wasn’t it _also_ ridiculous, for House to fight so hard to save a patient whom the state was going to kill off in short order, anyways? She supposed she and House had _that_ in common, even if he didn’t see it that way.

_Maybe he’s with Clarence_ , she suddenly realized, retracing her steps back to the latter’s hospital room.

Yes, there he was. She opened the door and leaned in. “House! I was just waiting for test results, I was-“

He turned, and she realized he was drinking. Had a bottle in one hand, and a urine cup – which she was fairly sure did _not_ have urine in it, even if the fluid looked similar – in the other. “A little busy right now. Getting my drink on.” he slurred.

She simply stared at him, not knowing how to respond to this. Just how much crazier was he going to get? If he was going to abuse her at work, she supposed she could learn to take it. But getting drunk right in the middle of the day, in the open, with a _patient_ \- “Unbelieveable.”

Allison didn’t say anything else, just turned and left. 

 

*~*~*

It hurt like Hell, but he was determined. House thumped his way up the stairs, cursing under his breath every step of the way. But he’d done it before, while they’d been struggling to treat Mark, so he could do it again.

He finally made it to the door leading out onto the roof. He pushed it open, limping over to the roof’s edge and leaning over, watching the cars and people come and go. Trying to clear his head.

Alli was disgusted with him, he knew. Even after he’d gloatingly explained to the team why he’d gotten drunk – that the alcohol would deal with the formic acid rampaging through Clarence’s system, and that of _course_ he’d had to drink, too, lest Clarence become suspicious and refuse – he could still see it in her eyes. Of course, considering how _delicately_ he’d been handling things with her, he was surprised she was even still speaking to him. Or staying at his place.

He had to do something about this. He couldn’t allow himself to destroy his working (and other) relationships with Alli, just because his ex was sticking around. He twirled his cane and fidgeted, considering the matter. At least he wasn’t being a total ass to her at home, but it wasn’t enough. Even Allison couldn’t be that understanding, that _forgiving_ of him. Not for long, anyway.

He glanced up at the darkening sky, as a sudden thought occurred to him. _Up until Stacy and Mark showed up, I hadn’t been up here in five years. Five years. And yet, now I’m starting to come up here again_. It made him wonder what other sorts of things he could do, that were ‘new’. Or at least, that he hadn’t attempted in five years.

It was getting colder, so he gave his cane one last rapid twirl, and then swallowed a groan as he hitched his way back to the stairwell.

 

*~*~*

Allison sat at her desk in the dim Diagnostic conference room, answering House’s mail. Trying not to think about Cindy Kramer. She had to tell her that she was terminal, but so far, she had avoided doing so. 

It was easier to focus her energies on something else. On whether or not she should confront Greg about his treatment of her at work. It hadn’t gotten her anywhere last time, but could it hurt to try again? If he dismissed her once more, so what? Besides, she still had the ultimate bargaining chip, which she still hadn’t played yet – she could just stop staying with him. Considering how much physical expressions of emotion seemed to mean to him, she was fairly sure that an empty, cold bed would be a strong statement of her disapproval with him. More convincing than any verbal argument.

But she didn’t like that idea. For one thing, it felt like ‘game-playing’, and that just wasn’t her. She generally preferred to approach problems head on, and talk them out. Well, unless it had to do with a dying patient that reminded her of her late husband. 

Luckily, she didn’t have to follow that thought to its depressing conclusion, because Greg chose that exact moment to materialize in the doorway, bag over his shoulder and coat slung over his arm.

He glanced around as he limped heavily in, as if he was looking for someone.

“Chase and Foreman went home.” she informed him, taking a guess as to whom he was looking for. 

“Yeah, I figured.” He tugged a chair over in front of her desk, and sat down, starting to tap his cane restlessly on the floor. He looked distracted and subdued to Allison, and she wondered what was coming. Was he just tired, after the long day they’d had? In pain? 

“We need to talk.” He started, eyes on the floor. “About your lung cancer patient. Whats-her-name.”

Allison felt her back stiffen. _Dammit._ The one thing she didn’t want to discuss with him. Or rather, one of the things (the other being Mrs. Stacy Warner). “Cindy Kramer,” she corrected, trying to keep her voice from rising.

Greg stopped tapping the cane, and held up a hand. “I’m sorry.” Still not meeting her eyes.

She couldn’t believe her ears. She couldn’t recall a single prior instance where he’d apologized to her. This required clarification. “Does this mean you think you were wrong, about all those tests I ran?” 

He shook his head, finally meeting her gaze. “No, I _still_ think you’re wrong…but I could’ve handled it better.”

_Typical House._ And yet, this was something. Him admitting that he ‘could’ve handled something better’? _Someone needs to call the Guinness Book of World Records,_ she thought dryly to herself.

Greg was getting to his feet. “C’mon,” he said, beckoning to her. 

She saved her document, then turned off the computer and gathered her own things.

Silence reigned as they walked down the hall, rode the elevator, and headed to House’s Corvette. They got into the car, Greg starting the engine with a roar, and they pulled out, Allison absently watching the scenery pass, turning over Greg’s apology in her mind.

Then, she realized they weren’t taking their usual route home. “Where are we going?”

“Around,” he answered, eyes on the road. “I said we needed to talk. What, you thought we were already done?” He glanced over at her.

She shrugged, not knowing what he expected her to say. 

He returned his eyes to the road. “I saw you. You and Cindy. In her hospital room. You were talking, laughing. I take it you still haven’t told her the diagnosis.”

“No.” she admitted, sadness welling in her chest. They sat in silence for awhile. Allison wondering what Greg would say next. If anything.

“So what were you doing? Making friends?” He finally asked. Surprisingly, his voice was even, low. No snark.

She glanced over at him, but he seemed serious. Sincere. She thought for a moment, trying to put all her thoughts and feelings into words. “Cindy's divorced. She doesn't have any kids, no siblings, both her parents are gone—“

Greg cut her off, his voice sharpening. “It's not your job to be her _friend_.” They were at a stoplight, so he turned to her, fixing her with an intense stare. “Don’t you understand? It's not worth it. She feels better her final few days, and you're not the same.” The light changed, and Greg accelerated. “Maybe for _years_.” He shook his head. 

He sounded like he was speaking from experience. That couldn’t be, could it? “You don't think it's worth it.” she said.

“I _know_ it's not worth it. That’s no way to be an effective doctor. You can’t carry that kind of baggage. Not for every lonely patient that comes through the door.”

Allison took a deep breath. Wanting to explain it to him. Wanting him to understand. “My husband was…I met him just after he was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.” She looked out the window again. “If I hadn't married him... he was alone. When a good person dies, there _should_ be an impact on the world. Somebody should notice. _Somebody_ should be upset.” 

She looked back to see him shaking his head again. “That someone doesn’t have to be you. It _can’t_ be you. You can’t give that part of yourself to a patient. Give enough of yourself away, there won’t be anything left. And then how many more patients will suffer, maybe even _die_ , because you’re carrying too much baggage to be an effective doctor? How much pain will you be putting yourself through?” 

She couldn’t resist asking him: “You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.”

Another quick head-shake from him. “Not mine. Wilson’s. He’s cut from similar cloth as you. When I first met him, he was like you, trying to make friends, trying to ease the transition for patients who were dying, as if that would change things.”

They’d been getting closer to Greg’s neighborhood, and now he turned onto the street just before his. “But it didn’t change anything.” he continued, a bit more quietly. “The patients still died.”

He didn’t say anything else, just continued driving. And Allison didn’t reply, thinking about what he had said.

Neither of them said anything more, not until they were at his place and removing their coats. Then he turned to her. “The patients still died,” he repeated softly, eyes locked on hers. “But Wilson felt the pain of their deaths like he’d lost a family member. After that happened about three or four times, he almost quit. The future Head of Oncology, the _best_ oncologist on staff. Almost quitting. How many more patients would have died, because he put himself out of the action, by getting too close to his patients, by letting himself get so affected by things _he couldn’t change_? Think about that, Alli.”

She spent the rest of the night doing just that. And marveling that she’d even had this kind of conversation with Greg. _Maybe having Stacy around won’t be all bad,_ she realized. It might even be worth dealing with Super-Asshole House most of the time, if he managed to turn into a half-decent mentor occasionally. 

 

*~*~*

He should’ve known his little secret was going to be discovered. Well, really _their_ little secret. But Allison didn’t really care if everyone knew, and House did. He was the one who always tried to ‘cleverly have no personal life,’ after all.

Still, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him that the other person who knew him best – and he wasn’t even going to go _near_ the idea that Stacy also did, too – knew that something was up.

So when Wilson sauntered into the Diagnostic office a few days after House’s tête-à-tête with Alli in the car, House supposed he should have expected this. 

Jimmy sat in his usual spot, then leaned back. Looking determined. “ _Spill_ it.”

House played dumb. That was expected, too. “My coffee? Why? Is it _poisoned_? I thought Wombat-Boy was looking a little _sly_ today.”

Wilson didn’t let himself get sidetracked. “You’re seeing Cameron.”

“I see her daily,” House replied, leaning back in his own chair and propping his leg on the desk. Keeping his face as blank as possible. “She _does_ work for me, after all. Thought you got the memo.”

Amusement mixed with irritation on the other man’s face. Amused at House’s attempts to evade him, and irritated with those same attempts. “You know what I mean. _Dating_ her.”

House scratched his head and did his best to look confused. He’d known Wilson would figure it out eventually, but that didn’t mean House had to make it easy for him to confirm his suspicions. “Why would you think that?”

Jimmy got up and paced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, for starters, before Stacy came back, you were actually a bit mellower than usual. Not enough that anyone else but me would notice, but still.”

“And you attribute this to the fact that I’m getting laid.” House said sarcastically, picking up his Magic-8 Ball and toying with it. “Let’s see, should I tell Wilson the truth?” he asked it out loud. He turned the toy over. “’Ask again later’. Sounds like good advice, Jimmy-boy.”

“Well, you’re either getting laid or there’s a _pod_ hidden somewhere in this office or your home.” Wilson persisted.

House smirked. Bantering with Jimmy-boy was always amusing. “Let’s just say, my dear _Wat_ son, that your deductions are correct, and I _am_ ‘getting some’. What makes you so sure it’s Cameron? Maybe I’m doing Cuddy in the Clinic after hours. Or fulfilling Chase’s S and M fantasies. Or doing brunette hookers.” 

“Or doing Carl in Bookkeeping?” Wilson said, shaking his head and grinning. “No, it’s Cameron. Like Lisa said, Cam’s the only woman who would put up with you.”

He was right, of course. Except for one other possibility, which House couldn’t resist throwing at him. “Maybe it’s _Stacy_.”

Wilson stopped dead and stared at him, hands on hips. “That is wrong on _so_ many levels. Even for you. You hate her. Not to mention she’s _married_.”

“That little detail never stopped you, Jimmy-boy,” House pointed out grumpily, getting to his feet. At least if he was going to get the third degree, he was going to maneuver them closer to the cafeteria. He could probably manipulate Wilson into buying him a coffee, at least. 

He caught a brief flash of something – anger? regret? sadness? – on his friend’s face. “I did that _once_ , House. Once. And it wrecked my marriage. I would never do it again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you tell all the pretty nurses that. Make ‘em feel like all that flirting is just good, clean fun,” he said dramatically, limping past Wilson and into the hallway. 

As he predicted, Wilson followed him. “My problems with Julie are about… _other_ things. And we’re working on it. In fact, we’re going away two weekends from now. I’m even taking a day off work, so we can leave Friday morning. Nice romantic getaway in the Bahamas.”

“A nice _expensive_ trip, Jimmy. Hmm, sounds like someone is feeling guilty.” They were at the elevator, so House pressed the button with his cane-tip. A few more moments, and they’d be at the cafeteria and House could get his Wilson-subsidized coffee.

But Jim had finally clued in to House’s game. “Sounds like _some_ one is trying to avoid my earlier question about a certain female minion of yours.”

The elevator came, and House stepped into it. And was annoyed when he turned and saw Wilson wasn’t following him in, just standing at the threshold of the elevator car. _Perfect._ So much for that plan.

He glared at his best friend. “Like it’s any of your business,” he groused.

Wilson’s expression softened. “You’re right, it’s not.”

Surprised at the reversal, House hit the door open button with his cane-tip as the door started to close between them. “Then why bother me about it?”

Jim sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck again. He kept his voice low, for which House was grateful. “Before you went out on that first date – the one everyone found out about – I told her to be…careful with you. That you’d been hurt enough. Well, after your date, I saw how it had affected her. How depressed she was.” He paused, then met House’s gaze directly. “So I’m saying to _you_ , now, to be careful with her feelings. As much as you’re capable of, anyways. She’s not Stacy. She didn’t do this to you. And she shouldn’t have to suffer for Stacy’s mistakes.”

House met his gaze, thinking Wilson’s words over. “I’ll take it under advisement,” he said, letting the door close. Realizing too late, that he’d just indirectly confirmed Wilson’s belief that he and Alli were dating. _Crap. Oh well, if_ _Wilson_ _starts to tease again – another off-key rendition of ‘Greg-and-Allison-sitting-in-a-tree’ - the next sensation he’s going to be feeling is my cane up his ass. Without benefit of K-Y jelly._

 

*~*~*

Allison sat in the Diagnostic conference room, mind wandering for a moment as the diagnoses were being tossed around. Things were a bit better. Greg was back to his usual level of at-work snarkiness. But he also had a bad cold, which made him fairly whiny. And Allison had been trying to avoid kissing him, in order to avoid catching the damned cold herself, which made him even grumpier…when he wasn’t trying to corner her at home and kiss her anyway, despite her protests to the contrary. Allison smiled to herself at the memory of how he’d tried to do just that, this very morning, and how she’d had to practically run out of his place to escape him. Sometimes being small and agile had its advantages.

She suspected she knew why things were a bit better lately. Probably because Stacy hadn't been around for a few days. Allison didn't know - or care - where she was. Something to do with Medicaid billing, she vaguely remembered. Didn’t matter.

Things were back to normal, at least for a few days. And they had a new case. Nine year-old girl with cancer.

They had their usual differential discussion, Greg’s voice taking on an almost amusing foghorn quality from his cold. She tried not to smile at how funny he sounded, and handed him the first of what would turn out to be several cups of hot black-walnut-and-ginger tea.

He seemed to be a little shocked when she’d handed him the first cup. But she’d figured the act was fairly innocuous. It was just the type of thing ‘that nice doctor Cameron’ would do, so she didn’t think Foreman or Chase, or any of the other staff, would read that much into it. 

Still, she realized a few moments later that he was going to make _sure_ that everyone thought nothing was going on. 

“Stay away from the patient,” he’d admonished, cradling the mug she’d given him and looking straight at her.

“What’d I do?” she protested, vaguely annoyed. _Is he really_ that _paranoid about everyone finding out about us?_

“Oh well, you’d just get all warm and cuddly around the dying girl, insinuate yourself. We’d end up in a custody battle.”

Yes, it broke Allison’s heart, to see someone so young dying of the disease. But she was mindful of Greg’s little speech to her last week, about getting too close. And it helped that Andi wasn’t alone. _Maybe this is just his way of multitasking,_ she thought to herself as she got up from the conference table to run her tests. _Maintain the snarky front, and remind me of the little talk about empathy that we had last week, all at the same time._

She was almost out the door when his voice stopped her. “What the hell is this?”

She turned to see him holding up the mug. “Black walnut and ginger.” She informed him casually, bracing herself for another rude remark. Par for the course.

But he surprised her. The briefest flash of regret in his eyes, before he replied, “It’s nice.” And she knew he was apologizing for the dig he’d just taken at her, in front of Chase and Foreman. So she gave him a smile, and then left to do her tests.

Some things didn’t change. But apparently, some things did.

 

*~*~*

The cold made him miserable – more miserable than usual, anyway – but at least Stacy wasn’t here to throw him off his game. He worked on the case. He surprised the team by bringing in bagels (why not?), he engaged Alli in a snarky half-joking battle over what the hierarchy was, for who got to touch the whiteboard markers. He made a pointed remark about ‘all the hookers who won’t kiss me on the mouth’, just to get under her skin. Retaliation for the fact that she’d refused to kiss him as long as he was leaking from the nose. He engaged in his usual Chase-, Wilson-, Cuddy-, and Foreman-annoyance tactics. He orchestrated the little Broadway show “Let’s Autopsy this Very Much Alive Nine Year-Old Cancer Patient”. And he solved the case. All in a week’s work.

When it was all over, he sat in his darkened office, chopping up diphenhydramine so he could take it nasally. Discussing the issue of bravery and self-sacrifice with his best buddy Wilson. “Yeah. I was wrong; she genuinely is a self-sacrificing saint whose life will bring her nothing but pain, which she will stoically withstand just so that her mom doesn’t have to cry quite so soon. I’m beside myself with joy.” He shot this at Wilson, as he snorted a line of medicine. He scrunched up his face. “Whoa!”

Wilson just stood there, looking disapproving. “Andi enjoys life more than you do.”

“I thought I was doing better, lately. Or rather, _doing_ one of my fellows. As you so astutely figured out.” House retorted, cleaning the mess off the top of his desk.

“Relationships are more than just sex and Chinese take-out,” Wilson pointed out. “I’ll bet you’ve never even taken Cameron out for a night on the town. Too worried someone from PPTH might spot you. And then your secret would be out.”

House felt even more annoyed. OK, so Wilson was right. _So what?_ “No, I’m pacing myself; unlike Andi, I have the luxury of time.”

“She could outlive you.” Wilson said quietly. And then turned and left, leaving House to ponder.

 

*~*~*

He watched uncomfortably as his colleagues milled around the World’s Bravest Cancer Kid. Cuddy, Alli, Foreman, Wilson, they all gave her goodbye hugs. Chase even gave her some kind of museum tickets or something. House stored that away as fodder for later insults: “Taking your little statutory girlfriend on a hot date to a museum, Robbie?”

Andi finally came up to him, and he kept his expression neutral, well aware that way too many people for his taste were looking on. “I’m not gonna kiss you, no matter what you say.” Fought to keep his stony expression as she hugged him. It was one thing for Alli to see his (somewhat) softer side. But he had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“It’s sunny outside, you should go for a walk.” Andi offered, looking up at him.

“Yeah.” House said, then looked pointedly at his cane. “I’m not much for long walks in the park.” 

Andi just smiled at him and walked away. And he found himself mulling over the events of the last few weeks, as he continued to scowl outwardly and lean against the counter. Wilson saying that House didn’t enjoy life. Stacy saying he was ‘the One’. Andi saying he should go for a walk. Climbing the stairs to the roof. Having a heart-to-heart with Alli. His thoughts of last week, about what it was he might be able to reclaim of his pre-infarction life. If he wanted to.

And so he was soon limping along, iPod plugged securely into his ears, two Vicodin coursing through his system. Actually walking. _Andi would be proud. Hell,_ _Wilson_ _would be proud,_ he thought. Despite himself, enjoying the breeze, the sun. Not that his leg didn’t hurt, or the palm of his hand taking the pressure and weight of his body every time he put his weight on the cane…but when he spotted his destination, it didn’t matter.

The motorcycle shop. He’d passed it on his way to work countless times, but never stopped. Now he did, standing there, looking at the sportbikes outside. Thinking, considering. Remembering how he’d sold his bike a few months after the infarction, convinced he’d never ride again. Maybe he’d been wrong. He’d never thought, five years ago, that he’d make it up onto the PPTH roof again, but he had. Maybe reclaiming another piece of himself, the piece that had loved motorcycle riding, was also possible.

The salesman had come up and was talking to him, so House pulled the earphones out of his ears.

“Your right leg?” the guy was saying. “You can still ride.” He gestured towards the Aprilia House was standing next to. “We’ve got excellent financing right no-“.

House cut him off. _Sportbikes aren’t really my style._ He knew exactly what he wanted. A cruiser. And not only that, but the exact same cruiser he’d had before. No other interested him. “Got anything in a Bonneville? Preferably in black?”

  


*~*~*

 

Another week passed.Greg had recovered from his cold, and had stopped whining since she’d let him start kissing her again. And Stacy was back, but Greg had been in an inexplicably good mood for nearly the entire week.

It was odd. Allison found herself actually getting a bit worried. _This is stupid_ , she kept thinking to herself. _You weren’t happy when he was snarking at you at work, you weren’t happy when he took his stress over Stacy working here out on you. And now he’s actually being somewhat mellower at work, and you’re_ suspicious _?_

She tried to let it go. Tried to enjoy the change. When Chase and Foreman tried to start a discussion on the strangeness of it over coffee, she just shrugged and said she had no clue. Which wasn’t a lie. It certainly had nothing to do with her or their secret relationship. Nothing else had changed in the last week to explain Greg’s sudden…relative niceness.

House knew the reason for his good mood – a certain purchase he’d made at the motorcycle shop – but so far, Alli didn’t know about it. All part of his evil plan.

As had become their habit, Friday found Allison and Greg alone in the Diagnostic conference area by the end of the day. They had no cases, everyone (even House, for once) was caught up on their Clinic duty, and Chase and Foreman had already left. So she and Greg walked casually out of PPTH together, just like two colleagues. But then left in the same car, heading out to one of their usual Chinese take-out places. 

House forked over the money and then passed the bags over to Alli. “We have to make a stop on the way home,” he told her, trying to keep any telltale signs off his face. She’d gotten pretty good at reading him lately, and he wanted what was coming to be a surprise.

“Oh?” she asked, unconcerned. 

“Yeah. You know Wilson went away for the weekend, right? Well, he made me promise to water his damned plants.” House made sure to act out one of his usual exaggerated eye-rolls. 

Allison fought to keep the surprise from showing on her face. First the somewhat-less-of-an-asshole he’d been all week, and now he was actually _voluntarily_ doing something for his best friend. But if she made a big deal out of it, he might change his mind, so she kept quiet. No reason for Wilson’s plants to pay the price. “No problem,” she said. “I just hope our food doesn’t get cold before we get home.”

“Why not eat there?” House suggested casually. “The Wilsons _do_ have a table and at least two chairs, last I checked. As long as you can resist the urge to engage in a food-fight, they’ll never know we were there.”

“Sure.” she said. They drove on in a companionable silence, her stomach rumbling, the heat of the food in its plastic bags radiating through her work pants to her skin.

House parked the ‘Vette in front of a quaint white house, and then got out and led the way to the Wilson’s front door, producing a key from the pocket of his leather jacket and letting them in. 

Allison couldn’t help feeling a bit like a spy, loitering in the Wilson home while they weren’t there, but Greg seemed completely at ease, dumping his jacket over the arm of the couch, and limping off deeper into the house. “Kitchen’s this way!” he called back over his shoulder to her. So she tossed her own coat over his, and then followed along, lugging the bags of food. 

The food was still very warm, and went down well with two beers Greg appropriated from the fridge (after assuring her it was OK, it was part of his ‘plantsitter’s fee’). They discussed their Clinic cases for the day, the resolution of their last patient, and Greg whined about some of the recent events on the O.C. _All very domestic_ , she thought.

House played the game he’d devised, all the while having to restrain himself from tapping his cane on the floor or betraying any other signs of excitement or nervousness. He ate his food, kept up his end of the conversation, cleared away the garbage and helped Alli wash the dishes and stack them in the dish drainer – she’d insisted on doing them, so the Wilsons wouldn’t come home to dirty dishes, and helping her meant he wouldn’t have to wait so long to move to Phase Two of his plan. He snuck away while she was stacking the rest of them, retrieving his leather jacket and pulling it on. 

He returned and stood in the kitchen, waiting until he had Alli’s undivided attention, and then put on a show, reacting as if he’d just remembered something he wanted to show her. “I almost forgot – there’s something I wanted you to see. It’s in the garage.”

Allison followed Greg to the Wilsons’ garage, once again a bit uneasy about poking around in someone else’s home. She almost protested out loud, but they were already there, Greg opening the door leading into the garage, and then using his cane to flick on the nearby light-switch. She paused, watching him as he limped over to something covered by a drop-cloth.

House paused when he realized Alli was no longer behind him. “Well, come on,” he said, beckoning. ‘It’s not going to bite you.” _Although_ I _might,_ he thought with private amusement. _Nicely._ He waited until she was by his side, before whipping off the covering. __

Allison caught her breath at the sight. A motorcycle. A black one. All gleaming chrome and shiny black metal and a long, supple leather seat. Also black. “Wow. How long has Wilson had a bike like that?”

House allowed himself to chuckle evilly. “It’s not his, it’s _mine_. And it’s a Triumph Bonneville, not just a ‘bike’.”

She knew that note in his voice. It was the same tone he got, before proposing (or sometimes, going ahead and just doing) something naughty. She turned to him, amused at the lecherous gleam in his eye. “OK, how long have _you_ had it? I didn’t even know you rode.”

House reached out, stroking the seat with light fingertips. Suggestively. As if he was stroking Alli. _Soon enough_. “I used to ride before the infarction. Haven’t ridden since. But this one? Bought it last week.”

She watched his fingers trace patterns on the leather, and found herself almost unconsciously squeezing her thighs together. _No, forget it, he’s just teasing you_. She didn’t know why he was keeping the bike here – protection from the elements? – but she just wanted him to water the plants so they could leave. And go home, so she could reacquaint herself with those fingertips on her naked flesh. She tried to keep her voice level. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

He turned then, giving her this _look_ , one that made her feel like her clothes were already getting slowly peeled off of her, and then limped over. He caught her by the upper arms and pulled her slowly forward and into his body. She couldn’t stop the shiver of anticipation as he leaned casually to her ear, warm breath bathing her skin. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” he growled. “You’re going to help me christen this bike, Allison.” And then he kissed her aggressively, pushing his tongue hard into her mouth. Making her head spin. 

When he broke the kiss, she giggled a little nervously. ‘Christen the bike’? She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. Although, at the same time, she felt the excitement rise up another notch in her belly. She didn’t trust herself to reply.

House released her, and put the next part of his plan into motion. It was cool in here, and he didn’t want her to be cold. He’d already arranged everything in here to his satisfaction (memorizing where everything had been originally, so it would be back in its proper place, with no one the wiser when Jim and the old ‘ball-and-chain’ came back), so he just had to limp over and turn on the little spaceheater nearby, adjusting it so that the warm blast of air was directed towards the region they would be occupying for the next while. And then he went and sat on the bike, sidesaddle, facing his girlfriend. 

She couldn’t believe the next words out of his mouth. “In fact, let’s start the process right now. Take off your shirt and bra.” 

Jaw dropping open in shock, she just stared at him. “But-“

He’d expected this resistance, so he hid his grin at how comfortingly predictable she was, and scowled darkly instead. “You do indeed have a lovely _butt_ , Alli. But we’ll get to it later. Right now, I want the top half of you naked.” He started to tap his cane sharply on the floor, as if he was getting _very_ impatient with her.

Greg was getting that commanding note in his voice, the one that always made her want to give in, want to give him everything he was asking for. And yet, the strangeness of the situation was making her _very_ nervous. “But, this isn’t even our place!” she blurted out, wrapping her arms defensively around herself.

“Jimmy-Boy and the wifey are on a plane, on their way to the Bahamas. I checked a few hours ago. Unless they parachute out before leaving the States and walk back at inhumanly lightning speed, no one’s going to disturb us.” He did his best to sound calm, reasonable. Comfortable. Like this was no big deal. In _control_. “C’mon, Allison, this bike won’t christen itself.”

This was so strange, and yet, exciting. Greg’s eyes running hotly over her body. The bike gleaming dangerously beneath him. Aggressive. Masculine. Much like Greg himself. _He wouldn’t do this with you if he thought we’d get caught,_ she thought suddenly. _The man who ‘has no personal life’ wouldn’t want anyone to come here and find us together, naked and doing_ …something… _in the_ _Wilsons_ _’ garage. So he must be_ sure _it’s ‘safe’._ It was that certainty, plus her curiosity as to what evil plans Greg had for her – and apparently that bike - that made her start to unbutton her shirt. 

House smiled inwardly at Allison’s continued expression of trust towards him. Outwardly, he watched and leered as she slowly unbuttoned and removed the shirt, as she reached behind her back and unclasped the bra. Her bared nipples stiffened almost immediately – it _was_ cool in here, still – and he resisted the urge to reach out and palm them, to warm them up. Not just yet.

She didn’t know what to do with her clothing, but Greg solved that problem for her, holding out his hand. “Gimme.” he said, with his typical formality. She stepped closer and gave them to him, watching him stuff the items into the bike’s saddlebags. “Now face away from me.” She did, and found herself studying the Wilson’s garage. Tools hanging from the pegboard. A small snowblower in the corner. A medium-sized oil stain in the middle of a car-sized void. The smell of concrete and metal. 

“Hands behind your back,” Greg ordered, breaking into her thoughts. And she hesitated, realizing what was probably coming. It was one thing to be half-naked in the garage of her boyfriend’s best friend. But to be half-naked and tied up…and yet, she couldn’t ignore the excitement still pulsing in her belly. It was increasing, even, despite her hesitation. The way it had when he’d brought her to the PPTH clinic in the middle of the night for ‘treatment’ of her nightmares. He’d kept her safe then. _He’ll do the same now_ , she reminded herself. She put her hands behind her back, and the next instant, he was wrapping rope around her wrists. Six loops around each, and then he tied the rope off in the middle. And she stood there, breasts rising and falling with her excited breaths, warmth gathering between her legs, wondering exactly what he was going to do.

_One more thing,_ House thought. He loved it when Alli’s hair was down. The way it fell in loose waves around her face and neck and shoulders, smelling faintly of pear shampoo. Especially now that she’d changed her hairstyle, lately. Not that he’d ever told her that. He’d tell her another time. For now he reached up, taking her hair cautiously out of its tie, combing his fingers carefully through the loose strands, mindful of the tangles. Just like the very first night they’d been together. The first night he’d had her like this, all his and completely within his control. He released her soft hair, letting it loose across her shoulders, and then shifted, already stiffening inside his jeans. “You can face me, now,” House said. This time, he did reach out and touch her, cupping a breast in one large callused hand, teasing the pad of his thumb over the firm nipple. She caught her breath, leaning into his touch, and he smirked. Enjoying the throbbing in Little Greg as he let his fingers brush across the rest of her bare skin, stroking her like he’d stroked the seat of the bike earlier. Then raising her breast to his mouth, so he could delicately kiss the nipple, so he could take it in his teeth, flicking his tongue lightly against the trapped tip. So he could feel her arousal increasing.

He finally decided to move on to the next stage of his plan. He made Alli go and pick up the discarded drop-cloth – which was awkward, considering her hands were bound behind her back, but she managed it – and then he folded it up, trying to create a cushion for her knees. He dumped it on the floor between his spread legs, but wasn’t really satisfied with it. A quick visual scan of the garage, and he’d found another couple blankets, and he made her get those, too, folding them and dropping them on top of the first, until he was happy. “On your knees, Allison,” he ordered, indicating the pile. Also an echo of their first night together, he realized.

Without hesitation, Allison did just that. Carefully, however, since her balance was a little off in her work pumps, with her hands behind her back like this. Once down on her knees, she let her eyes roam up his long legs, study the incredible bulge in his jeans, and then move up his tee-shirt and leather-jacket-clad chest, finally looking up into his face. He was watching her with those incredible eyes, lecherous and full of intent. “Now,” he continued, his voice a low sexy growl that made her throb inside her panties, “unzip me.”

She raised her eyebrows, wondering at his game. “Um, OK, _how_?” What exactly did he expect? He had her hands stuck behind her back, after all.

This earned her an exasperated eye-roll from Greg. “We need to watch more porn together,” he informed her. “There are ways to open a man’s fly without using your hands. I’ll bring in bagels for the team again, Monday morning, if you can manage to figure it out without me having to drag the Whiteboard in here and make you a _diagram_.”

Realizing as soon as the words escaped his mouth that he might have been too cutting, he forestalled any reply from Alli by reaching out and drawing her face close. He didn’t exactly pull her mouth right into his crotch, but it was a near thing. Then, he let his fingers roam to the back of her neck, massaging it in the way he knew she liked best. And to remove any lasting sting from his earlier snark, he added: “I’m sure I won’t need to, though. You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure something out.”

Indeed. She saw his game now. Chosing to ignore his earlier remark, she rose up on her knees, feeling his hand slip down to caress her upper back. She’d never done this before, and inexperience made her clumsy, but Greg seemed to have exhausted his arsenal of snark, waiting patiently as she bit down on the edge of the cloth and worked it free of the button, and then taking the tab of the zipper carefully between her teeth and tugging it slowly down over his straining bulge. He joined in then, pushing his fly open further and helpfully extracting himself from his black boxer-briefs. 

Allison didn’t need any further prompting, taking him into her mouth. She closed her eyes, the better to enjoy the rest of the sensations. She could smell his familiar scent, mixed with the aromas of leather and metal. Could feel his hands in her hair, caressing the strands back from her face. She paid equal attention to both his balls and his throbbing shaft, shifting to lick teasingly along his heavy sack one moment, to brush her lips against his pubic hair, and then returning to engulf him in her mouth, taking him in as deeply as she could without gagging. Tasting the familiar flavour of his skin. 

_God, this is hot,_ House marveled. He had to struggle to keep his eyes open, to watch everything. He was definitely the visual type. And the image of Alli on her knees, sucking and licking along the length of ‘Little Greg’, her hair wild and twisted around his fingers, her pale white skin and stiff pink nipples, so sharply contrasted with the hard industrial setting of the garage, the powerful, rough aura of the bike…he wished he’d thought to bring a camera.

He knew if he came now, he’d last that much longer when he finally did ‘take her for a ride’, so when she got him to the edge, he let her take him over. Growling her name, he spent himself into her for the first time that night, still watching her intently as she swallowed down every last drop of him.

His aftertaste was bitter on her tongue, but she savoured it, trying to ignore the fact that her legs, despite the cushioning, were starting to cramp and protest. So she didn’t mind when Greg drew her to her feet, holding her against his chest as he caught his breath. His skin and his tee-shirt were _warm_ against her face and neck, the leather of his jacket cool against her nipples, a delicious contrast that made her quiver all over.

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. And she felt his hands tighten on her upper arms as he pushed her a little away so he could lower his mouth to her chest. She jumped a little at the unexpected sensation, when he ran his prickly chin in a rough circle against her nipple, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Especially when he wrapped his mouth around her aching tip, sucking gently. Oh God, she was _so_ wet.

House plotted his next few steps, even as he busied himself teasing Alli. Moving from one nipple to the other, kissing, sucking, lapping, rubbing his chin against the sensitive tips. Exploring the curves of her body with delicate, loving strokes. Mind made up, he undid the fastening of her slacks, lowering them down to the floor. He let her thong panties alone for now, and made her step out of the pants. He’d let her keep her shoes and those little stocking-sock things, whatever they were called. The concrete floor was probably too cold to make her go barefoot.

Despite the spaceheater, it was still cool in the garage, but Allison didn’t mind. Even almost completely naked, she felt warm and flushed, aroused beyond belief by the things he’d just done to her. And by the promise of what was to come (no pun intended). When he ordered her to turn away from him once again, she did so without hesitation, and she felt him release her bonds. But her freedom was brief. He made her face him again, letting her flex her arms a bit, while he reached into the saddlebags on the bike once more. He produced another, longer length of rope, laying it on the gas-tank beside him for the moment, as he now retied Alli’s hands in front of her. 

House got up, grabbing his cane from where he’d left it leaning against the bike, his free hand taking firm hold of Alli’s arm. Not that he thought she’d try to escape. Slowly, he walked her around to the back of the bike, turning her to face it. Moving her closer, he dragged roughened fingertips gently down her back, making her shiver, and then pushed her down so that her face and upper torso were pressed the length of the seat, the rest of her ‘hanging off’ the back of the bike. He paused for a moment, considering. Letting his fingers alternately trail over cool leather and cooler metal, and Alli’s warm skin. He noticed that the taillights were pressing against her, but she wasn’t complaining, so he decided to continue.

“Stay put,” he directed her. He limped back around to the side of the bike, and then, picking up the length of rope from the gas tank, proceeded to tie one end around her wrist bindings. The free end was then looped around the top of the Bonneville’s frame, tugging carefully on the rope until Alli’s arms were stretched out in front of her, wrists pinned against the back curve of the gas tank. Pleased, he knotted the ropes, and then limped back a few paces, pausing to admire the effect. 

_Man, she looks gorgeous._ Her soft naked body, draped over his big bad bike…he especially liked the way her white breast contrasted with the black leather of the seat, the way her hair picked up golden highlights, scattered over the dark metal. Black thong underwear and shoes, as well. A coincidence, but nicely matched to his Triumph. He likey. Once again, he cursed himself for not having a camera on hand. _Next time_ , he promised himself. 

He scanned the rest of the garage quickly, looking for the low stepladder he’d noticed when he’d been casing the place earlier. There it was. He limped over and grabbed it, dragging it over and behind Alli.

Allison heard the scrape of metal on concrete, and glanced over, watching House until he had moved out of her line of sight. She didn’t know what he had planned (though she had some idea, knowing what he liked), but she trusted him. And she was turned on beyond belief. She’d always liked the smell of leather, and she was surrounded by it now, with her cheek resting against the seat. The part of the seat under her face still warm from House’s body, and the rest of the cool leather warming itself under the press of her chest. She tugged experimentally against her bonds, but as always, he’d tied her securely. No escape. But she didn’t want to, anyways. 

She heard him settle himself behind her, and then her legs were rudely pushed far apart by impatient hands. She squirmed, moaning quietly as his fingertips dragged slowly up the insides of her thighs, making their gradual way towards her underwear.

Black thong panties were the only things separating him from the ultimate object of his desire, but he wanted to tease her. He drew the ladder a bit closer, leaning in and pressing his nose against the crotch of her underwear. Breathing her in, listening to her gasp. He continued the tease, feeling her squirm against his face, as he licked her through the sheer fabric. More delicious noises coming from her, especially when he circled her clit through the panties with the tip of his tongue.

Seized by an evil impulse, he took the crotch of the panties carefully in his teeth, pulling the fabric a little away from her body, and the releasing it, letting it snap back into place, the little jump and louder noise she made in response suggesting her clit was getting a nice little jolt. Pleased, he did it again, and then again, enjoying her reaction. 

Finally, hungry to taste her, to see her sex naked and wet and spread wide in front of him, he pulled her panties to the side, the scent of her arousal becoming stronger as he removed that last barrier separating the two of them.

She felt his tongue swipe hotly across her, flicking against sensitive spots, and she clenched her fists around the rope holding her down on the bike, shuddering. Then he was holding her open, alternately mouthing her clit and letting something rough – his chin again, she assumed – rub lightly against it. More of a tickle than a burn, but it still made her squirm and gasp breathlessly. 

He continued the sweet torture for long moments. Mouthing, using his stubble, kissing her pulsing little node. He certainly seemed to derive a kind of predatory pleasure from making her twist and moan, she’d noticed. Not that she was _complaining_. 

House ran his hands caressingly up her legs, across the smooth expanse of her back, over the taut globes of her ass. Pausing to stroke the damp curls on either side of her wet opening. She was trembling under his hands, but it was the _good_ kind of trembling. It made him want to tease her for hours, to keep her on the edge for as long as she could take it. “You taste so sweet,” he whispered against her pussy, his voice low and husky. “I always knew you would.” He _had_ , too. Hell, he’d known the moment she’d set foot in his office for her interview. Had known that once he got between her thighs, he wouldn’t want to stop. Part of the reason why he’d kept her at bay for so long, idiot that he was. But it didn’t matter. He had her right where he wanted right now, every inch of her available for his needs and desires, and he wasn’t going to deny himself – or her – any of them.

Which reminded him of something else that Allison enjoyed. Even as early as their first night together. He’d pushed her that night, practically daring her to challenge him, or to get scared and run. Either of which he would’ve used as an excuse to end things between them. But she’d trusted him, met each of his demands and actions with her agreement. And her pleasure. Not to mention everything that had come after…Reaching over her hip and into a saddlebag, he pulled out a condom, ripping open the packet and unrolling it onto the handle of his cane. He wasn’t quite ready to get inside her yet, so he might as well see how hard he could make her come.

She heard the condom packet being ripped open, but had no idea what he was up to. Still, if he was about to ‘ride’ her – in a manner of speaking – he’d get no argument. 

But that wasn’t what he had in store for her. Instead, she felt something hard and slick pressing against her clit, moving in tiny maddening circles. She groaned, reflexively pushing her hips back _Is that-?_

He laughed evilly behind her. “It’s true, chicks really _do_ dig the cane. And a man who knows how to use it properly, apparently. You like this, don’t you, Alli?” 

She tried to come up with a snarky comeback, but he increased the pressure against her, shutting down any efforts she might have made to say something intelligible. And then his tongue was exploring her entrance, and there was really nothing to do but lay her head against the seat and give in.

_God, she’s_ soaked. _Score one for the ‘limping twerp’ yet again,_ he thought. He paused to nip gently at the swell of her ass, then leaned back for a moment to take it all in. Her naked flesh, glistening faintly with sweat in the overhead lights, the bike filling it’s unconventional role as bondage frame, his cane doing its evil thing between her thighs. Feeling ‘Little Greg’ start to stir once more. Again, he cursed the lack of a camera. This was definitely a Kodak moment.

Still, he had a job to do. Only thing sexier than Alli tied helpess over his bike was a _satisfied_ Alli tied helpless over his bike, so he set about reaching that goal. _It’s a noble goal, after all,_ he snarked to himself.

After all the teasing, it didn’t take much. Allison felt his mouth return to her entrance, his tongue pressing inside her, searching, the roughness of his stubble teasing at her tender skin. The cane relentlessly massaging her. Until she arched her back, muffling her cry against the leather seat, giving up complete control to him, swallowed up completely in her orgasm.

His hand was on her back, gently stroking her as she calmed down. She was getting the leather seat all sweaty, but she supposed Greg didn’t care. She felt him finally peel her underwear off and down her legs, pulling it over her shoes, lifting each foot one at a time. And she craned her neck back, trying to meet his gaze over her shoulder, as he stood up behind her. He looked smugly at her, starting to unzip himself again. “I’m not done with you yet, Dr. Cameron.” he said, his mobile features shifting into a menacing expression about as real as a three-dollar bill.

Catching her own breath, she shot back at him playfully, “Who said I was done with _you_?” And caught him off-guard, because he threw his head back and laughed, genuinely this time. Her neck was aching from the angle too much to keep looking at him, so she faced forward again, fixating on her bound hands instead. Shivering at the cool brush of a leather sleeve along her hip, as Greg reached over her and into the saddlebags for what turned out to be another condom. 

She heard him tear this packet open, too, and glanced back at him again, realizing that except for his open fly, he was still fully clothed. “What, am I the only person here who’s going to be naked?”

“Lobby art is always best when it’s _nude_ art. And you lobby art. Me boss.” he snarked at her, amused. And without further ado, he joined their bodies, sliding himself into her as slowly as humanly possible. Slow and teasing, that’s what he felt like doing right now. Watching her, taking in her fists clenched around the rope, sweaty strands of hair hanging over her pale back, over the sides of the bike. His thigh protested, so he made the necessary adjustment, putting more weight on his good leg, and on the cane, and a little bit on Alli. Not much on the latter, though, he didn’t want to hurt her. Or unbalance the bike. He _not_ likey.

She was so hot and tight, wet and slick around him. He gritted his teeth again, but not from pain this time. Struggling to control the impulse to thrust faster. It was tempting to focus on the pain after all, to lessen his arousal. But he didn’t want to. He’d have to distract himself some other way. 

Better to distract himself by focusing on Alli. The more he touched her, the harder she’d come, and the better he’d like it. _Oh yes._ He moved a fraction faster, letting his free hand stroke those rounded asscheeks. He squeezed a cheek, not to hurt, but to feel the muscle, the resistance. Still admiring the view. 

It occurred to him suddenly, staring down at her exposed backside and the crinkled pink entrance nestled between her cheeks, that this was one thing he hadn’t tried with her before. Experimentally, he stroked a finger down between those curved globes, running a light fingertip around the puckered opening.

Alli was riding the beginnings of another intense wave of sensation. The caress of him inside her, the caress of his hands on her flesh…but then she felt him touch her _there_ , a spot where he’d never touched her before, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Suddenly embarrassed, she gasped out: “ _House_!” 

She could practically feel his gaze burning into her naked back. Watching. Assessing. _Diagnosing?_ “What? Doesn’t that feel good?” He was still touching her there, lightly, and she could feel her face getting red. “Lots of nerve endings. Lots of _potential_.” He pressed a little harder, suggestively.

She couldn’t. Couldn’t do that. Not like this. “I…” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, eyes still fixed straight ahead. “I’ve never done that before.”

“No?” He understood, now. No, this probably wasn’t an optimal first time for any kind of anal action. A bed, a more neutral setting…he’d let it go. _This_ time.

So instead, he put his fingers to work on a different part of her, reaching around her hip, transferring those light tantalizing strokes to a more usual part of her anatomy. Caressing the tiny swollen node, feeling her muscles clench tightly around him. Stepping up the pace, working her closer to the edge.

It was still quite a sight, watching Alli in her face-down position over the bike in front of him, but he soon realized he wanted more. Withdrawing slowly from inside her for the moment, he let her know what he wanted next. “I’m going to help you turn over onto your back, Alli…And we’re going to do that slowly and carefully.” he warned her. He didn't want the bike to topple off its center stand

Allison stood still and waited while Greg loosened the ropes slightly, and then let him guide her. He urged her to shift up higher on the seat, moving towards the front of the bike, then helped her to turn over. Slow, gradual movements, a little bit at a time. Over onto her side, then over onto her back, using the saddlebags as leverage.

Finally, she’d made it. She was still hanging off the back of the bike a fair bit, though, which wasn’t really enough support. But Greg caught on very quickly – perceptive man that he was - that she wasn’t comfortable, and was soon urging her to move even further back towards the front of the bike, still helping her. Until she was lying almost fully along the length of the Bonneville, head resting on her upper arms on the gas tank, ass positioned at the edge of the seat. ****

Yes, that was what he wanted. She was no longer bound quite as effectively, with so much slack in her arm ropes now. But he didn’t care about that, just got inside her again. _Yes, perfect_. Now he could watch her, take in every expression of pleasure on her face, could watch their bodies coming together, watch his glistening shaft moving in and out of her pretty pussy, watch her breasts bouncing at each impact of his body against hers. 

It was a strange sensation for Allison. Even in this position, she still felt precarious, unbalanced. The rope was no longer taut, and she could feel the muscles in her calves straining, trying to hold her up, to keep still on the seat of the bike, mindful of Greg’s earlier warning about unbalancing it. Trying to focus on the feeling of him sliding inside her, but distracted by the need to stay still, the fight to keep her balance.

He must have sensed her discomfort, because he shifted his hold on her, cupping her hips, steadying her. Supporting her even as he moving inside her, thrusting hard, pushing his pelvic bone hard against her clit. And she gave in, relaxing into him, trusting him to hold her, trusting him not to let her fall.

House was nearing the limit of his endurance. His thigh was starting to complain more forcefully, his back, his shoulder….and he wanted to spill himself inside her so very badly. Wanted to watch her surrender. That was always his favourite moment, watching her give up that last measure of control, demonstrating that last expression of trust. Letting him see her ‘naked’, fully and completely, sharing that secret part of herself with him. And watching her come was always an effective way to push himself the last of the way, to his own completion. Nothing like the smug satisfaction of knowing an old cripple like him could still drive a woman to an earth-shattering climax.

He took a tighter grip on one hip, and then shifted the other hand back to her button, rubbing forcefully. “Come for me, Alli,” he growled, order and request all in one. Thrusting as fast and hard as his leg could bear.

She didn’t disappoint him. Gasping, her back arching and her head thrown back, she showed him that part of herself, giving up to him and sensation, pulsing around him. And he went with it, letting the waves of her pleasure surround him, overcome him, until he was deep inside her, shuddering, giving in himself.

Slowly, muscles screaming,House pulled out of her and sat down on the stepladder. But he didn’t let himself slump – not yet – instead edging the ladder as close to the bike as he could manage. Still holding onto her, steadying her, so she could relax as much as possible, too. 

Allison had her eyes closed, enjoying the aftereffects. The heat radiating off her skin, the slack feeling of her muscles, Greg’s rough cheek against her belly. She wished she could reach down, stroke his damp hair, but he hadn’t untied her yet.

Finally, Greg roused himself. She watched as he used the stepladder to lever himself to his feet, leaning over her to unbind her hands, to help her get to a sitting position on the seat. Now he shrugged off his jacket, and even peeled off his tee-shirt, obviously trying to cool down. “A little late, aren’t you?” she joked, raking her eyes suggestively across his damp chest.

He leered at her, grabbing his cane and limping over to the spaceheater, snapping it off. “Is this your way of requesting a round two, Dr. Cameron?”

She laughed. “You’re inexhaustible, aren’t you?” She started to get dressed again.

“I try,” House replied, stretching languidly. But no, he was done for the night. He sat back down on the stepladder, carefully stretching both legs as well. All that remained was to pile both of them onto the Triumph for a more _conventional_ ride, and go home and sleep, he decided. He zipped himself up, and put his tee-shirt and jacket back on, figuring he was as cooled down as he was going to get. Wincing at the damp coldness of his sweat-soaked tee, but he supposed if that was the worst he got for being stubborn, he could live with it.

Once they were both ‘decent’, he went with Alli to grab their things. And then he came back to the garage, opening the door and starting the Bonneville’s engine. He drove it out onto the driveway, parked it, and then went to get the ‘Vette, putting it in the Wilson garage. He got back on the bike, waiting for Alli to join him. Coming up to him, she watched as the garage door slid closed. “You’re leaving it here?”

“Yep. It’ll be fine. We’ll come back tomorrow, and you can drive the ‘Vette home for me,” he explained, as she climbed on behind him.

Unable to resist the urge to tease him, Alli retorted. “What? You’re letting me drive your car?”

“And touch the Whiteboard markers, yes.” he returned, sounding amused. 

Suddenly, Allison remembered something else. “Wait, don’t we need to water Wilson’s plants?” 

House couldn’t repress an eye-roll of exasperation – although of course Alli didn’t see it, since she was behind him. He put a lot of irritation into his voice instead, to make up for that. “Don’t worry. He should’ve known better than to put me in charge of plant-sitting. He can afford new plants on his salary, trust me.”

“But don’t you think, after using his kitchen and…his garage, the least we can do is-“ _Typical Alli_ , House thought, performing another eye-roll and cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, _fine_ , if it’ll make you feel better, go and do it, Dr. Plant Fairy-Godmother.” He passed the house-keys over his shoulder to her, waiting impatiently as he felt her get off the bike.

Still, in all fairness, it wasn’t long before she was back, before he felt her soft body sliding onto the bike behind him, slender arms wrapping themselves around his waist. And he began to think, as ‘Little Greg’ began to stir languidly again, that maybe she was right – he _was_ inexhaustible. _Only one way to find out,_ he mused. Time to take them home. He gunned the engine, and they sped off.

 


	7. Expanding Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House tries to ‘expand the horizons’ of his existing relationship with Cam. Albeit slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note that there's anal play in this one, so avoid if that squicks you.**
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything but the sex toys.  
> Betas: Thanks very much to katakombs for helping me out. This fic SO wanted to give me trouble. She helped me wrestle it into something resembling a decent chapter. *gives cookies*  
> Author’s Notes: AU, and spoilery for S2 of House. Yeah, I’m playing fast and loose with the canon timeline a bit. Oh, and I’ve never written anal!play before, so hopefully it doesn’t suck. Or is that blow?

Another week, another puzzling medical case. Another week that nearly everyone was in the dark that House and Alli were an item. And House liked it that way.

He was still doing his best to maintain the status quo at work. Wilson knew, but Jimmy-Boy also knew he’d better keep his mouth shut, if he wanted to avoid getting caned across the shins. Stacy had figured it out somehow, but she didn’t seem in a hurry to inform the masses. 

But it was still safer to maintain the status quo. He didn’t want a repeat performance of what had happened when Alli had first asked him out (pushed him, rather) on that date. Everyone talking about it, everyone coming up to offer _advice_. Just remembering it made him shudder and reach reflexively for his Vicodin. Hell, no, he didn’t want to deal with that again. Instead, it was much better to give the appearance that nothing much had changed. That he was still the bitter, lonely old cripple who tormented his minions and harassed his boss. 

So, even though it was vastly inappropriate – not that it hadn’t been before, obviously, but now it was even _less_ so – he continued to comment on Cuddy’s obvious endowments every chance he got. The little incident with her and her handyman with the pasta name gave House ample opportunity for that. 

“We need something stronger than heparin. Human-activated protein C.”

House goggled at Cuddy as if she’d grown a third breast. Nope. “Looks like Cuddy, same cleavage. Protein C is indicated only for severe sepsis.”

As expected, they argued, he snarked. 

“You know, if I tried a scheme like this, you’d give me that nasty, wrinkly face and screech like a hyena.” He limped over to Cuddy, smirking. “It’s very sexy, I admit.”

Cuddy just rolled her eyes, issued her commands, and left. House turned to Alli, wondering belatedly if he’d pushed too far, but she was only shaking her head. Even smiling a little, as if the display amused her. And it probably did. She knew his ways too well by now to be concerned about his remarks to their Dean of Medicine. 

Good; he wasn’t keen on getting his balls cut off. Or sleeping alone again.

*~*~*

House continued his game as he and Minions One and Two (a.k.a. Foreman and Chase) went to Cuddy’s to search for possible contaminants.

He won his bet - that he could get into Cuddy’s place in under twenty seconds - scoring forty dollars. _Nice._ Maybe he’d use his winnings to surprise Alli tonight. A bunch of tiger lilies (roses were too romance-novel for him) for the dinner table - well, OK, coffee table - tonight.

Chase and Foreman even made it easy for House to pretend he actually had a hard-on for their bodacious bosslady. “So how did you know about her key?” Foreman asked. “You been doing a little _handyman_ work for Cuddy yourself?”

And later, Chase, in Cuddy’s bathroom: “You two are just too nasty to each other not to have been…nasty.”

“Hey, I can be a jerk to people I haven’t slept with. I _am_ that good.” House snorted inwardly. _Christ, these two are just making it_ too _easy._ It was almost not any fun at all.

 

*~*~*

 

OK, he was wrong. 

It _was_ fun. Mostly because he could then go back and snark at Cuddy about it.

“By the way,” he asked, turning around to face her before limping out of her office. “Why does everybody think you and I had sex? Think there could be something to it?I don’t know.”

He limped out before she or Stacy could answer. He already _knew_ the answer, after all. Besides, he had a new case. Some doctor from Africa. _Yay,_ he thought sarcastically. Treating medical staff was always a huge pain in the rear. And not a _good_ pain. 

In fact, as he walked into the Diagnostic conference room, there sat the sick-o in question. _Lovely._

“Patients aren’t usually part of the diagnostic process,” he grumbled loudly, limping in to get to the business of getting the guy out.

 

*~*~*

Allison watched Greg limp into the Diagnostic conference room, scowl firmly in place. She’d observed him making his sexually-laden remarks to Cuddy all week long, but it hadn’t bothered her. He’d been interacting with Cuddy this way since Allison had started working here. Since long before Allison herself had started to be attracted to him, have feelings for him…so she wasn’t worried. It was normal, for him, strange as that might seem to an outsider.

Besides, she knew that he was still paranoid that PPTH would find out about their little ‘arrangement’ and that the tongues would wag endlessly about it. Considering how she herself had been forced to field questions from practically everyone at PPTH about how their first horrible date had gone, she could see his point. Yes, part of her was sick of sneaking around like this. But she could almost picture the looks she’d get, the questions, the advice. _No, thanks._ So Greg would, as he’d been doing all along, make every effort to keep up the appearance of normalcy. Which included snarking at her in front of Chase and Foreman, continuing to make remarks about Cuddy’s breasts, and so on, and Allison would go along with it.

Besides, she wasn’t worried Greg would cheat on her with Cuddy. If he was unhappy, he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about it and find a little ‘fun’ on the side. He’d never been the type to keep any feelings of discontent hidden. So, if Greg was displeased about ‘them’, he’d inform her and probably wouldn’t think twice about it. Or about even just unilaterally dumping her, although Allison was fairly sure things between them had progressed _way_ too far for that. Still, the point was that if he wanted out, he wouldn’t _cheat_ on her to do it.

Still, after nearly a week of watching House take hourly potshots at Cuddy, Allison was almost happy to have another case thrown into their laps so soon. Even as she wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. At least Cuddy should – _should_ – be more hands-off with this one. It wasn’t someone she knew personally. So Allison would get a break from watching the one-man show that was her boyfriend.

Or not. Right now, they had a new case, and she had to focus on that. Focus on diagnosing their patient of the week, Dr. Sebastian Charles. 

Except, apparently Greg had other ideas. He was currently making a show of sniffing the air. “What is _that_?”

In the seat next to her, Dr. Charles replied: “Oh, that. I’m sorry, that’s my body powder. It’s the only thing I’ve found that works in the Sahara. I’m kinda used to it, I don’t even notice it.”

“Who thinks it smells like an elephant dung smoothie?” Greg commented sardonically, and Allison shifted in her seat, starting to finally feel a little irritated with him. Did he _ever_ turn it off?

“It smells okay to me,” she jumped in. Next to her, the patient laughed.

Throwing her a glare, Greg retorted, “That is _exactly_ why the patient shouldn’t be in the room. If you can’t tell a man that his cologne makes you want to puke, how are you going to tell him that he’s an idiot?”

“He’s not an idiot,” Allison threw in. What was Greg’s _problem_? He hadn’t had any objections to having Rowan Chase in here, helping them with a case. Why was _this_ doctor any different?

A few more arguments were thrown around, finally culminating in Sebastian ordering a TB test. House seemed to tacitly agree, but Allison wasn’t fooled.

Greg confirmed her suspicions a few moments later, when Sebastian had left. 

“I had to get him out of there,” he said. “Now we can all sit around and call him an idiot. Who wants to go first?”

_Typical Greg_ , she thought with a sigh.

A little while later, she found herself rebelling against Greg, and not regretting it in the slightest. She prepped Sebastian for the stress test and the echocardiogram. But she also prepped him for a PPD; that was for her. Greg might control her utterly in the bedroom – when he was wearing the Dom hat, anyway – but not here. Not at work. She was allowed to have independent thoughts, take independent actions. 

Sebastian seemed to realize that she was undermining her own boss. His appreciative chuckle after she administered the PPD confirmed it.

 

*~*~*

A few days later, Allison was once again contemplating the issue of jealousy. Strange, how these things went. Not so long ago, Greg had been practically drooling over Cuddy - at least, from an outsider’s perspective - and Allison had been in a position to get jealous and angry. If she’d allowed herself to.

Now, it looked like Sebastian Charles was interested in her. And that Greg was actually _worried_ his girlfriend might be looking to ‘trade up’. At least, that’s what his recent craziness suggested. It had started with Sebastian asking her to dinner in the stairwell. He hadn’t exactly been clear on whether he was trying to recruit her to his cause, or whether he was interested in a date. Not that it mattered. Even if she wasn’t involved with Greg, dropping everything to live in Africa wasn’t exactly to her taste. But Sebastian had collapsed before she had a chance to tell him she wasn’t available for either scenario. 

Later on, however, was when Greg had caught on and the dramatics had really started. She still hadn’t yet handled the issue of Charles asking her out – mostly because she realized that if she told him she was seeing someone, Sebastian might mention it to someone else and then everyone would be pestering her about it – so he probably still thought he had a shot with her.

So when she went to see him, she tried to keep it about his TB - which he refused to let them treat him for. “I just came to ask if you’d be willing to accept any treatment.”

He shook his head. “No, if you’re trying to scare me into any –“

“No.” she said. “Palliative treatment. Narcotics, Fentanyl patch, morphine drip, whatever it takes. We can make your last days fairly comfortable,” she said, then paused before adding,“And if you have another good day, maybe dinner.” 

It was manipulative, but it was worth it, if it convinced Sebastian to take care of himself. Greg manipulated patients all the time, why couldn’t she? Besides, she’d only said _maybe_ dinner.

When Sebastian had taken her hand and thanked her, that was when Greg had gone ballistic. Allison decided later on that he must’ve witnessed them holding hands and jumped to the wrong conclusion. He’d gone insane, turning up the thermostat, knocking Sebastian’s personal items onto the floor, unplugging the TV. He’d even gone so far as to flush Sebastian’s cell-phone down the toilet, and then wipe his cane off with the sheets on Sebastian’s bed.

At least, Allison _thought_ Greg was jealous. She supposed it could just be that he was frustrated with Sebastian’s behaviour. Or that he had something against other doctors, famous people, or something else she hadn’t thought of. Then again, considering he’d gone so nuts mere moments after Sebastian had taken her hand…

Was Greg really that afraid that Allison would dump him for a younger model as soon as possible?

 

*~*~*

Apparently, he was. 

She was sure of it when they were leaving for the day, Sebastian’s tumour diagnosed and in the process of being treated.

Alone together in the elevator, he asked her: “Are you gonna go out with him?”

Greg threw the question at her bitterly, and Allison shook her head. How ironic, the way things were going between them. Not so long ago, she’d been frightened he’d leave her for Stacy. Now _he_ was the one afraid of being abandoned? “I don’t think so. Last I checked,” she added casually, “my boyfriend and my job were both in New Jersey.”

Greg didn’t seem that reassured. He stared up at the numbers flashing above the door. “Two days ago you were holding his hand. What’s changed?”

“I can’t hold hands with a patient? If it encourages them to do what _you_ want, to save their lives? I’ve seen you do much worse to save patients,” she retorted.

“So, let me get this straight: if having sex with my patient will save his – or her – life, you’d do it.” It was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head. He really _was_ afraid. Astounding. “I won’t even dignify that with a response. You know better.”

“Do I?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said flatly. “And besides,” she couldn’t help adding, “Don’t you think you’re being unfair? You flirt with Cuddy all the time, right in front of my face, and I don’t hassle you about it. I _trust_ you. And yet, you see me doing something as innocent as just holding hands with a patient, and you decide I’m ready to leave you?”

The elevator doors opened, and she stormed out, thanking her lucky stars that they’d driven in separately today. She was no longer in the mood to put up with his insecurity. If she hadn’t proved herself enough by now, that was _his_ problem.

She was still fumbling with her car keys when his thumping gait sounded directly behind her. She swore inwardly. She wasn’t really angry – yet – but if he continued on in this vein, she thought that might change pretty quickly.

His hand closed warmly over her shoulder. “Allison,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve been doing that a lot, lately. Apologizing,” she pointed out.

“Yeah,” he said. “Seems to be becoming a habit of mine. Should I say I’m _sorry_ for that, too, or is that just confirming your point?” A little humour started to creep back into his voice.

Still bent over her purse, she smiled ruefully to herself. “I guess it would be-“

She got a surprise as House pulled her around to face him, then wrapped long arms around her, pressing her tightly against his chest. _I guess he checked to make sure there were no witnesses_ , she thought drily to herself.

“It’s just,” he said, in that uncharacteristically quiet voice of his – the one she was coming to associate with either intimate acts in the bedroom or those ‘heart-to-heart’ moments they had on rare occasions – “I’m probably boring you.” 

“What?” she exclaimed – or tried to, as her voice was kind of muffled in his shirt. She attempted to pull back to look up at him, but he wouldn’t let her go.

“Boredom. Defined as ‘the condition of being bored; ennui’. Because all we usually do is go to my place, order in dinner, watch movies or tv, and have kinky sex. Sometimes, just to mix things up, one of us’ll cook dinner. Or I’ll play my piano or guitar. There’s a lot of women who’d get tired of that routine rather quickly. Probably even some men, too,” he added, after a pause.

Allison pushed against him until he finally loosened his grip. Pulling back, she looked up and met his eyes. “Not me. I enjoy your company, Greg. That’s the most important thing. Who cares what we do, as long as we’re doing it together?” She smiled mischieviously. “I’d say we get plenty of thrills on the job, anyways.”

He snorted, then bent and pressed a quick kiss on her lips before releasing her. “Yeah, high drama on a regular basis. Some network ought to make up a show about us. It’d be compelling television.” 

She smiled and started to dig in her purse for her keys again. “So, are you reassured?”

“It’ll do,” he said, now smirking slightly. He was up to something, she realized. She could practically see the gears turning in his head. Probably trying to come up with some new ploy in the bedroom. Fine by her. Whatever he needed to do to reassure himself that she wasn’t going anywhere – especially if it wound up leading to a delicious sexual encounter – was most definitely welcome.

 

*~*~*

Despite Alli’s assurances, House wasn’t all that reassured. Wilson’s words from weeks ago came back to him, circling in his mind like angry wasps.

_Relationships are more than just sex and Chinese take-out. I’ll bet you’ve never even taken Cameron out for a night on the town. Too worried someone from PPTH might spot you. And then your secret would be out._

It was true, of course. He ruminated on the problem. Yeah, it wasn’t just sex, and it wasn’t just Chinese take-out. But it wasn’t much more, either. He did tend to linger around his apartment. Hell, he’d rarely even set foot in hers – too many stairs to navigate. They ordered-in more than just Chinese, but House wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking that was enough ‘variety’ to last them for years. Or even months.

Their bedroom repertoire, too, while being decidedly less vanilla and boring than most people’s, wasn’t going to cut it, if that’s all they did. Going out to eat, going to movies, going to monster truck rallies and to blues clubs and to rock concerts. That’s what normal couples did, and in all the months they’d been involved, none of this sort of thing had happened. He wasn’t, he could admit that to himself, much of a catch, crippled and grumpy as he was. The fact their kinks dovetailed was only going to carry this so far.

So, he started to plot. To plan. There had to be a way around the basic problem. _If I can solve puzzling medical cases with relative ease compared to Dull_ _Normal_ _Doctors, how hard can this be?_

*~*~*

The end of the week approached, but with no new cases in sight. At first, no one seemed to mind. Greg seemed happy to sit in his office (when he wasn’t grumpily catching up on Clinic duty), watching soaps and playing Gameboy. Allison and her colleagues tried to make a dent in the backlogged charting (also a classic ploy of Greg’s). But despite the tedium of the charting, it was kind of…restful. They didn’t have to rush through lunch, could have coffee in a leisurely manner, could go home at a decent hour…

By day three, however, they were all getting a little antsy, so Allison was very glad it was Friday. Until Cuddy paged her to the Dean’s office. 

Allison wasn’t sure what was going on – it wasn’t like they had any cases that Cuddy needed the inside scoop on – but she tried not to get too nervous. It could have nothing to do with her and Greg. Nothing at all.

“Dr. Cameron,” Cuddy said, as Allison walked into her office. “Come sit down.” They both settled themselves on the couch.

There was a long pause. Somehow, Allison knew what was coming. 

“So, how long have you been seeing House?” Cuddy asked, smiling a little.

Allison struggled to keep her facial expression neutral, in case Cuddy was just ‘fishing’. For a moment, she actually considered lying. Until she remembered she was a terrible liar. 

Seeing her hesitation, Cuddy added: “It’s OK. You’re not in trouble. Or House, for that matter. I don’t know if you know this, but I _encouraged_ him to go on that date with you.”

_That_ was a surprise. Allison had realized after the fact that ‘forcing’ House to go on a date with her might not have been viewed with approval by their big boss, but since the first date had gone so poorly, she had deliberately forgotten about that aspect. And then, once she and Greg had started this ‘relationship’ in secret, of course there was no reason to think Cuddy would even have found out…except she had.

“I didn’t know,” Allison said. “I’m actually surprised. I thought--“

“Normally, it’s not the sort of thing I encourage – a boss dating their employee.” Cuddy interrupted, shaking her head. “But it was – is – a unique situation. House isn’t exactly easy to put up with. Few women would even consider involving themselves with him. And he’d let even fewer of _those_ in. But after five years, he needed to. So yes, when I’d heard you were trying to bring something normal – a date – into his life, I chose to encourage it. Even if the way you got the date was a bit…” Cuddy was grinning.

“Yeah, I guess I did ‘push’ him. On the other hand, it was the only way.” Allison allowed.

“Hopefully, that’s not the way you’re getting him to see you now.” It was a statement from Cuddy, not a question.

Allison paused, considering. Then decided to tell the truth. She didn’t know where Cuddy was getting her information from – Wilson? Stacy? – but it seemed that honesty was the best policy. Cuddy herself knew what Greg was like. She seemed to understand that any relationship with House almost by definition had to be unconventional. Still, she saw no need to go into specifics. Cuddy didn’t need to know that their relationship had _really_ started with Allison kneeling naked on the floor of Greg’s bedroom. “No, I don’t need to ‘push’ him any more,” Allison answered, finally smiling back at the other woman.

“Good,” Cuddy nodded with approval. “I don’t know if being with someone again will ‘soften’ any of those sharp edges of his, even a bit, but we can hope.”

She nodded to Allison, dismissing her, so Allison got up and started to move to the door. She had her hand on the doorknob, when Cuddy added: “Oh, and you two enjoy your weekend off.”

Allison paused, looking back over her shoulder at her boss’s boss. “What?”

 

*~*~*

He’d come up with a plan. And House was feeling smug. 

From the start, he’d resolved to keep everything secret from Alli. Surprising her was so much more fun than just _telling_ her.

House didn’t know if this would really work. He doubted that what he had planned was all that different, really, from the kinds of ‘dates’ they’d been having all along. He supposed he could ask Jimmy for his opinion, but he quashed that thought after a moment’s consideration. He’d gone to a fair bit of trouble (for him), and he was going to see it through. ‘Baby steps’ were better than no steps at all.

He’d waited until Alli had left for work this morning – she often went in earlier than him – and then he packed both their bags. He didn’t have the ‘full range’ to choose from for her clothes, since most of her stuff was still back at her apartment, but he’d made do with what he had. He’d also made sure to include their ‘toys’, some sexy underthings that he liked seeing on her that she tended to leave over at his place, and other key items. The essentials. Then he’d managed – carefully – to load everything into the ‘Vette.

Sitting in his office and idly watching GeneralHospital, he congratulated himself. _All set_ , he thought. Cuddy had already cleared both of them for this weekend. They had no cases, so that helped. She’d been curious, of course, as to why House was asking for time off for both himself and Allison this weekend. Hell, she was probably wondering why House was asking for vacation time, period. He’d come up with a song and dance number about serendipity, but he’d been able to tell from her eyes that she wasn’t fooled. Not for a moment. She’d probably gone and grilled Wilson right after House had left her office.

But he wasn’t worried if Cuddy knew about him and Alli. Cuddy had been very supportive of their public date. And he knew from their days at Michigan that Cuddy knew how to be _discreet_.

But apparently her discretion didn’t extend to Alli, as he was about to find out. 

 

*~*~*

Mindful of the fact that Foreman and Chase were in the next room, Allison pushed the door of Greg’s office open and walked in, stopping in front of his desk.

“What’s this about you getting time off for both of us this weekend?” she asked. Finding out that Cuddy knew all about them was only the first surprise she was going to get today, it seemed.

House sat back in his chair, grinning. “I don’t know. Maybe we should ask my Magic 8-Ball,” he said, making a show of reaching for it. “Oh great plastic guru, should I tell Allison Cameron what shadows lurk in the minds of brilliant diagnosticians?” He turned it over. ‘Yes’, the little triangle read. _Fuck._

“I thought we could use a little time off,” he told her. “Together. Wanted it to be a surprise. Which I guess it still is, except a little earlier than I expected. Cuddy spilled, didn’t she?”

_Hell, yes,_ Allison thought. “Yes, it was a surprise. So what are we doing, then?”

“Uh-uh-uh, Allison,” House said, wagging his finger at her. ‘That would spoil the _remaining_ surprise. Just report back here in, oh-“ he checked his watch, “two hours, when we’re both officially done for the day, and you’ll see.”

“That’s right after lunch, House.” 

“I talked Cuddy into letting us leave early if we had no cases. We don’t, so we are. Now make like a good little minion and do some charting til then, OK?”

Allison shook her head, smiling to herself, then smoothed her expression out before turning and walking towards the conference room’s connecting door. Yes, a day full of surprises, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

 

*~*~*

Allison was indeed surprised when the ‘Vette pulled up in front of a hotel. _Fancy place,_ she thought. _What are we doing here?_ She started to ask Greg, but he was smirking at her in such a way that she knew he’d just slither away verbally if she tried to question him. So she didn’t try to, just stood back, bemused, as bellhops dealt with their luggage – considering he had packed secretly and without her input at all, she hoped he hadn’t just packed nothing but thongs in various colours for her – and Greg surrendered the keys to the ‘Vette to a valet.

Still, the question gnawed at her. She held it back as they checked in, as they rode the elevator to the top floor. As they walked into the room and the bellhop brought in their things. Until they were alone.

“Greg, why are we here?” 

He was busy looking over their room. A large bed. Nice furnishings. And, most notably, the large hot-tub. 

Still smirking, he limped over to her. He put out a hand, stroking light fingertips down the side of her face. “Wanted to take you somewhere different. Do something _new_.”

She knew immediately what this was about. “I told you, you didn’t need to. I’m happy-“

His fingers took a firm grip on her chin, stopping her words. “I know. But I _wanted_ to.” Greg kissed her then, deep and slow, and she decided that there was no point arguing with him. Especially when he turned and limped over to the hot-tub and turned on the water. 

“Now get naked, little girl,” he ordered.

She knew that tone. The one that signified that he was running the show. The one that meant she’d probably wind up securely tied to a piece of nearby furniture, vulnerable and exposed and loving every second.

This was one of those times when it was OK to let Greg boss her around.

 

*~*~*

Two seconds after starting the water, House changed his mind. He told Alli to hold up with the clothing removal. Instead, he turned the water off, and then limped over to the phone. Room service, it was a beautiful thing. 

House lounged on the bed as they waited, clicking through several channels before settling on a National Lacrosse League game, with Allison snuggled up next to him. She’d wanted to unpack their things, but Greg had ordered her onto the bed with him instead. Probably, he had a bunch of ‘toys’ hidden in one of their suitcases, and he wanted to surprise her with them later. That would be typical of him.

Thirty minutes later, dinner arrived. Complete with champagne, Allison noticed. “You’d better be careful,” she joked, after Greg had paid the server off generously. “I might get used to this. I might expect it every weekend.”

“Gotta spend my massive doctor’s salary on something,” he replied, lifting a silver lid and poking at the steak on his plate. “Now that I don’t have to blow my money on high-class hookers every weekend, that leaves plenty of disposable income to spend on _you_.” House grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her. 

She snorted. “I’ll ignore whatever you’re implying.”

He did his best to look wounded, but it was all a sham. Again, typical.

They ate, Greg making a running commentary on the lacrosse game still. The food was excellent, the champagne making her slightly tipsy. And that hot-tub was looking very tempting. It had been a long few weeks, and Allison was looking forward to soaking it out of her system.

When they finished, they lounged around a bit longer, sipping champagne and watching the end of the game. House watched Alli critically, unbeknownst to her. He didn’t want her _drunk_. Didn’t want her judgement compromised. He just wanted her relaxed for what he was going to propose, he wanted her loose and limber….

Finally, he decided it was time to put his plan into action. He snapped off the tv and turned to face her, using his Dom voice once again. “I brought you a gift. It’s in your suitcase.”

Weaving only slightly, Allison got to her feet and made her way to their luggage. Behind her, she heard Greg make his thumping way to the hot-tub once more, and then the sound of water splashing.

She opened the zipper, and there it was – a small flat box, neatly tied with a silky ribbon. She lifted it out, carrying it to the bed. “Should I open it?” 

“Yes,” came the command, and she undid the ribbon. Opening the box, she was soon lifting out a set of pretty, lacy red underthings. A teddy, with sheer lace panels as the bra-cups, and a tiny thong, also with a panel of lace at a key spot. Modesty had nothing to do with this. This was definitely something to display one’s charms in, and Allison smiled. “Thank you,” she said, going over to Greg and reaching up to kiss him. 

“Don’t thank me yet, little girl. We’re just getting started.” House sat on the edge of the tub, feet still on the dry side, studying the water-flow with a baleful eye. Filling this damned thing would take _forever_. He popped two Vicodin, before tossing his pill bottle onto the dresser. 

_May as well kill some time,_ he decided. “Take off your shirt. _Slowly_ ,” he instructed her, spinning his cane slowly in one hand.

Allison felt a blush come to her cheeks. Despite the champagne, despite the fact they’d been involved for long enough that he surely knew every inch of her as intimately as a man could know his lover, she still felt a little shy about this sort of thing. But she wasn’t in the mood for a spanking, so she turned, facing away from him. Letting her hips sway slowly, a little hesitantly, as she started to undo the buttons on her shirt. Although that wasn’t much of an escape from his intent gaze, as the mirrors over the dresser reflected both of them. And reflected in the mirrors around the hot-tub, reflecting a thousand sitting Gregs and a thousand stripping Allisons.

“This would be easier if I had some music,” she quipped, undoing the last button and letting the fabric slip from her shoulders, down to her elbows. 

“I could hum the theme from ‘Jeopardy’,” Greg chuckled. His tongue passed briefly over his lower lip. Entirely unconscious gesture, but Allison noticed it, and tried not to get weak in the knees, wondering if that tongue was going to be inside her, between her thighs, anytime soon.

“No thanks,” Alli laughed, and House watched her let the fabric slide down her back and eventually off her arms. “That would probably kill the mood,” she added, tossing her shirt onto the bed.

“Possibly,” he granted her. “Now the pants.”

_He’s calling_ all _the shots tonight, isn’t he?_ she noted. Dictating practically her every motion. But that didn’t bother her. Not in this context. Work would’ve been another story entirely, but _here_ \- She unsnapped the fly of her slacks.

She made sure to sway her hips as she worked the pants down and over them. Shimmying ever so subtly as she let them drop to the floor. Smiling over her shoulder at her boyfriend. Maybe it was the champagne, but she was starting to have fun with this.

House alternated between admiring the view – Alli wasn’t exactly wearing a g-string, it being a work-day and all, but a nice ass was a nice ass, and he intended to get _very_ intimate with it later on -and glaring at the slowly filling tub. _I’ll be ready for a nursing home by the time this thing is even half-full,_ he grumbled. Out loud, he instructed his lovely bath-partner to: “Tell the bra to take a hike.”

She did that, too, really enjoying herself now. Greg’s lustful looks never failed to have that effect on her, and the alcohol didn’t hurt, either. She unsnapped the hooks, turning to face him while she slid the cups away. With a flourish, she tossed it over to him.

He caught the bra neatly, holding it to his nose to take a deep sniff, then grinned lecherously at her. “Eau de Allison, my favourite.”

She laughed. “You’re such a hedonist,” she teased. 

He widened his eyes at her, as if shocked. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Never mind,” she snorted. “Let me guess – you want my pantyhose off next?”

“That’s my girl,” he encouraged, tossing the bra over to join her shirt. “And while you’re at it, the panties, too. Wouldn’t want the pantyhose to feel lonely.”

“Yes sir,” she saluted him smartly, turning away from him again to wriggle her way out of the aforementioned articles of clothing.

_Hmmm, maybe a little too much champagne?_ he wondered. Not that she didn’t joke around with him outside of work, but this defiant flippancy mid-scene was new. 

Time to get control back. The tub was half-full, so time to make himself naked. “Over here, little girl,” he beckoned, once her remaining clothes were off and out of the way. 

Allison walked over to him carefully, trying not to weave too obviously. She didn’t fail to notice the critical eye he ran over her. She got the feeling that he was, as usual, looking out for her. Particularly in these situations. She’d learned from past sexual experiences with him that if she was going to hand over control, it was something he was going to take very seriously. It was a responsibility, and one he wasn’t going to shirk on, which was why she trusted him enough to give him that control in the first place.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, when she was standing over him. He waited until she was kneeling on the soft carpeting. “Now, undo my buttons,” came the next direction, as he motioned at his shirt with the handle of his cane.

Allison was aware of his gaze on her, watching her every move. Somehow, she was even more self-conscious about her nakedness now, mere inches from him, his body heat on her bare skin, than when she’d been stripping for him across the room. It made her fumble a bit – or maybe it was the alcohol – but she managed to get his shirt opened and off. Didn’t even drop it in the tub. Score one for her. 

The tee shirt soon followed suit, and then he directed her to remove his pants and boxers next. They had a bit of a struggle, getting the clothes off around his already impressive erection, but soon enough, Greg was also naked. He ordered her to get back up, then stood up himself, leaning over to turn off the water, and then he put his weight carefully on her and let her help him slowly into the tub.

Hot water engulfed House’s legs, easing the ache somewhat. Long drives weren’t fun, especially not added on top of the usual fatigue and wear-and-tear on his legs and back and shoulder after a long week. There was a seat built into the tub – only one, which sucked, but he supposed this gave him an excuse to have Alli sit in his lap – so House laid his cane along the tub’s edge, and then limped slowly over to it, before lowering himself into the water, sighing with relief. Once he was settled he motioned Alli closer.

_Whoa, that’s some_ hot _water_ ,Allison thought, letting herself sink down until the water swallowed her from feet to shoulders. She pushed herself over to Greg, allowing him to catch her by the wrist and draw her against his chest.

They remained like that for several long moments. Their lower halves engulfed in the hot water, her head pillowed on Greg’s chest. She closed her eyes, feeling her whole torso moving subtly up and down with his deep, slow breaths. She could hear his heartbeat under her ear. She could feel the hardness of his erection pressing insistently against her belly.

_Damn, this is nice._ _If a little too hot,_ House thought, mopping absently at the sweat trickling down his face. _Note to self: next time, don’t crank the hot water_ quite _so much_. But at least he was no longer feeling all the aches of the drive up here. He moved a foot into the path of one of the jets, letting the massaging sensation soothe him, and stroked wet fingers down Alli’s unruly curls, across the smooth expanse of her back. Looked like his game-plan was working. A little champagne, a little relaxing soak in heated water, and maybe she’d let him take the last bastion of her virginity, so to speak. He was rock-hard just from reviewing his plan in his head.

He considered his plan again. She’d never engaged in anal play before, so caution was the order of the day. He had enough experience with it to know that it would probably be a really bad idea to just flip her over, tie her down, slap on a condom and some lube and push himself into her back door unannounced. Those porn movies he’d often watched aside, the ladies generally didn’t appreciate that kind of approach. Especially not for their first time…seducing one’s partner into it was a far better strategy. His erection twitched against Alli’s skin, just from visualizing how she’d look beneath him, shuddering in orgasm with him pressed deep inside her in two places at once.

Allison felt ‘Little Greg’ (as he liked to call it) flexing against her. She didn’t know how he managed to maintain an erection in this heat. She could feel sweat beading her skin, wherever her body was above the water, and along his skin as well. Responding to his body’s messages, she caressed him lazily, running her hands down his arms, through the sparse hairs on his chest. 

She suddenly wanted very badly to slide down and take him into her mouth. Except, he was still in charge, and he hadn’t ordered her to do anything except come and cuddle with him. Would he punish her for her audacity? Although, considering how much she enjoyed getting ‘disciplined’ by him – it made her tingle just remembering the last time he’d taken her over his (good) knee – was that really such a bad thing?

She decided to risk it. She slipped out of his arms and got onto her knees, smiling at the puzzled look on Greg’s face, then slid her hand down his body, encircling his throbbing hard-on and stroking softly. He smirked then, catching on to her ploy, and angled himself in the tub’s seat to bring his erection up above the surface of the water. 

“I thought _I_ was the one in charge here,” House commented mildly. It wasn’t a complaint, however. Especially not when Alli leaned forward, gripping the base of his shaft with a firm hand and darting her tongue across the underside of the spongy head. He bit off a groan, and reached to tangle his fingers in wet strands of her hair.

“You are,” she murmured, licking her lips seductively, before taking him entirely into her mouth. _We need to order in champagne with our take-out more often_ \- House thought in between the languid strokes of her lips and tongue. _And install a hot tub in the townhouse. And-_

Allison was drenched in sweat now, the heat overwhelming – heat of the water, heat of Greg’s body under her hands, inside her mouth – but she kept on. Teasing gently at the thick veins with tongue and teeth, sucking the sensitive spot on the underside of the head, taking him in as deep as she could get him without gagging. And through it all, he was hard as steel, eyes squeezed shut and his head loose on his neck, and she couldn’t help reveling in her sense of power. She might be the one on her knees, but _he_ was the one who was helpless at the moment.

His eyes opened and he looked down at her, the passion in his gaze making a warm feeling – warmer even than the water – stir in her belly. On sudden impulse, she decided to do something she’d never done with him before. Stretching up on her knees, she leaned over his groin, guiding his rampant shaft between her breasts to slide hotly along her skin. She took her own breasts into her hands, squeezing her soft flesh around him, and teasing her own nipples, too, just for the heck of it.

House’s mouth fell open, watching her. _Feeling_ her. _Christ._ Oh yes, a little champagne definitely turned Allison Cameron into quite the sex-kitten. He’d have to remember that. He brushed her hands away so he could touch her himself, squeezing her nipples lightly in callused fingers and holding her softness around him as he slid up and down along her breastbone. 

It was quite the view, and he marveled at it. The contrast between his hard, reddened rod and her satiny whiteness. The feel of her wet flesh sliding around and under his. And then, when she looked down and her tongue came out to tease across the aching head on every upward stroke, he was sure he’d lose it then and there.

Gritting his teeth, he released her and eased her away. “Not yet, little girl,” he growled. Damn, he wanted to taste her so badly. Was there any way to do that in here, in the tub? 

Looking around, he saw that every wall around the tub was mirrored – why, he wasn’t sure. Did people get off on that? Probably they weren’t usually scarred, grizzled old cripples – but he supposed there wasn’t much other choice. Let the maids hate him for creating water-stains everywhere, he didn’t care. He snatched a towel from the lip of the tub, folding it and laying it over one of the tub-edges that was against one of the mirrored walls. He patted the towel, beckoning Alli with his head. “Come and sit your luscious ass down.”

Allison smirked at him, knowing exactly what was coming next (probably her). She stood up, suppressing a shiver as the transition from hot water to cool air made her nipples stiffen, and sat herself down. The mirrors were even cooler against her back, but she didn’t have time to dwell on that, because Greg was kneeling down in the hot water, most of his weight on his good leg, and spreading her legs wide with firm hands.

House licked at her outer lips, not surprised that she tasted of water and not much else. He’d just have to fix that, wouldn’t he? He sucked droplets of water from her curls, brushing his tongue across her clit a few times for good measure, tightening his grip on her thighs as she reacted with squirming. He pushed his tongue deep inside her, tasting her familiar flavour again, then pulled out and caressed along the sensitive inner lips. _Mmmm, Greg likey_.

Allison clutched onto the slippery edge of the tub, tingling fires shooting through her every time Greg’s tongue made contact with a particularly sensitive spot. She let her head roll back and forth against the mirror behind her, not thinking about the fact that her wet hair was smearing the surface. Just enjoying what Greg’s talented mouth was doing, how quickly she was getting to the edge…

House waited until her breathing was quick and rapid, until he could feel the taut muscles in her legs bunching under his hands. But he wasn’t going to let her come yet. That was for a bit later. He pulled away, ignoring her chagrined expression, and beckoned her back into the water. Besides, even if he’d been prepared to allow her to orgasm right now, his thigh was complaining _very_ loudly, and if he didn’t take a break, it would likely ruin the rest of his plans for the night. 

They lazed in the water awhile longer, until the jets stopped running and House thought his thigh would shut up long enough for him to climb out of the tub. He pulled the plug out, tossed another towel onto the floor, then got up carefully, letting Alli stay in the tub and support him as he gradually negotiated his way out.

A few moments later, he was seated on the tub-edge again, letting Alli dry him off. She seemed to derive great amusement from rubbing his hair briskly with the towel, but he managed to hide his amused smirk. It was time to reassert his authority, so she’d be in the proper mindset for what was to come.

Allison let Greg pluck the damp towel from her hands and dry her off with a fresh one. His hands lingered on her, bringing goosebumps to her skin, and when his fingers went back between her legs to tease along the entrance to her body again, she pushed against his hand shamelessly. He leered at her and immediately stopped touching her, but she knew this game. Eventually, he’d make her climax. Still, she groaned irritably as he made her face away from him so he could dry her hair.

A few moments of brisk rubbing with the towel, and Greg seemed ready to move on. “Go put on the pretty new outfit I got you,” he ordered. “And make it snappy, little girl.”

Now, the real playtime was about to begin. She went over to the bed, slipping quickly into the new scarlet underthings, enjoying the way the rough lace teased at her nipples. 

House wanted to watch her dress, wanted to admire how the new garments set off her pale skin and dark hair, but he had other important business to attend to. He’d enjoy the view once he had her properly ‘prepared’. He got up, snagging his cane from where he’d left it earlier, and then pulled two fur-lined leather cuffs from one of their bags, plus a length of soft nylon rope. He limped over to the headboard, looping the rope around a fineole at the top of it, and left two ends free to attach to Alli’s cuffs.

When he was ready, he motioned her over. She held her wrist out obediently when he held out the cuff, and he marveled again at her ability to trust him. It occurred to him that sometimes, he thought she trusted him more than he trusted _himself_. Except that he’d never hurt or disappointed her, at least not in this context. He shoved away the sudden thought that tonight might be a very stringent test of her trust in him.

When Greg had both leather cuffs securely buckled onto her wrists, Allison lay down on the bed as he directed, lying on her back and restlessly pressing her thighs together as he attached her cuffs to the rope’s trailing ends. The bath had left her languorous and lazy, but her aborted orgasm had left her hungry for more of his tongue. Or whatever else he planned to use on her. Maybe he’d brought a few vibrators with him? She squirmed and tested the taut bonds, quivering in anticipation.

She was primed, House knew it, could practically _smell_ it, but he wanted her even more relaxed. He slid himself between her thighs, pushing them wide apart, shoving the red lace to the side of her soaked entrance and picking up where he left off. He took in a deep breath of her musk, slipping his thumb inside her, enjoying how she gasped at the sudden invasion and pushed her hips eagerly up to meet his hand. 

He wrapped his lips around her clit, suckling and nibbling with careful teeth, feeling her movements get more frantic against him. The bedspread was cool and smooth under him, and he hunched his own hips into the bed, rubbing his aching length against the fabric. He wanted to get inside her, but not yet. That was for later. 

House brought her right to the edge once more, but this time, he let her fall over it. He relished the feel of her spasming around his thumb, the noises she made as she gave in. He loved the thrill of power it gave him, that she’d give him this control and reward him with her surrender this way.

He waited until she was still, her limbs like warm putty under his hands, before he slid up the bed and nestled himself against her side. _It’s time,_ he told himself, fighting the sudden urge to forget the whole idea in case she freaked out. _Slow_ , he reminded himself. No, he didn’t think he was about to propose anything earth-shattering to her. But on the other hand, she _had_ practically jumped half a mile in the air when he’d caressed her between those gorgeous ass-cheeks while taking her for a ‘ride’ on his motorcycle in Jimmy’s garage. She’d also seemed a bit nervous, as well. All things considered, he preferred to err on the side of caution.

“Alli,” he whispered in her ear, “I want to try something new tonight.” 

She felt sleepy and sated, and it was an effort to focus on his words. But she shook the cobwebs from her mind. Maybe he had brought a new toy with him. “Like what?”

“Now, before I suggest this, I want you to know that you can always say no.”

_That_ got her attention. She looked sharply at him, wondering what would make him think that she’d _want_ to back out. “I know. What did you want to do?” 

He hesitated, and she started to feel a little nervous. Greg was never this hesitant, certainly not when he was running the show in the bedroom. 

_How do I put this?_ House wondered. _Ah, fuck it._ _Grow some balls,_ he snarked to himself. Alli was getting nervous, he could see it on her face. He needed to gain control of himself, so that she would have no doubts. Besides, he’d done this sort of thing before and never gotten any complaints. 

“Remember in Jimmy’s garage?” he finally asked her. At the confused look in her eyes, he qualified: “When I ‘rung the doorbell’ at your back-door, so to speak, and you said you’d never done anything like that before? I want to change that. Take the last of your virginity, if you get my meaning.”

Yep, she got it. “I…don’t know…” She was nervous, alright. Reassurance was in order, he knew.

“I don’t intend to go directly to ‘home base’ all in one night, Alli. Little Greg can content himself visiting the usual ‘venue’.”

He could see that despite her unease, she was getting intrigued, too. Wondering what he planned, if not full-on anal sex. He watched her swallow, gathering her courage. “Then what exactly did you want to do?”

She watched Greg as he slid off the bed, limping back to their piled suitcases. That anticipatory quivering was starting up again in her belly. She trusted him, and she would also admit to being…curious. She was a doctor, and she knew that carefully-excuted anal play was perfectly safe. She trusted Greg not to hurt her, either. But still, the _embarrassment_ factor was high. Did she really want to expose that part of herself to him?

When he limped back to the bed and placed two items on the quilt – a tube of lubricant, and a set of latex gloves – she felt both her arousal and her nervousness jack up another notch. 

“By the way,” he added in that quiet voice - the one that always made her feel that he was looking out for her, making sure she was OK - “I can leave you untied while we do this, if that’d make you feel more comfortable. _If_ we do this. And I should also mention that I’m not a virgin, in the sense that I’ve done this before. And my efforts always got a…warm reception.” 

As he spoke, he was smirking slightly, even as he was watching her reactions closely. Obviously, _he_ was sure she was going to enjoy herself. “Although, if I _do_ leave you tied up, then whatever happens, it’s not your ‘fault’. You were helpless in the face of my debased and depraved urges.” His eyes were twinkling now, amused at his own logic, and Allison found herself smiling back.

He was still standing there, leaning awkwardly against the side of the bed, and Allison knew she had to make a decision. She could back out, yes, and say that she never wanted to speak of it again. She knew he’d respect her decision. Or she could back out now with a promise to try it later, except she knew she’d have to battle the same apprehension the next time. And yes, she _was_ curious. She did want to know how it would feel, to have Greg’s fingers invade her at that most private of places. 

She knew he’d do whatever it took to make it feel good for her. There was that connection between them. That trust. And he was excited at the thought of doing this to her, his erection huge and hard. “OK,” she said softly, feeling the blush creeping hotly up her neck and face, her heart already starting to pound. 

House nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. He throbbed painfully, more turned on by the thought that she’d let him do this to her, that she trusted him that much, than the act itself. And he wondered suddenly if Mr. Big-Shot TB Doc was capable of being as…creative in the bedroom as House himself was. _Doubtful. He doesn’t have the brains._ He allowed himself a moment of smugness, and then picked up the lube and gloves, sliding up next to her on the bed again. “Do you stay bound, little girl? Or should I let your arms free?”

He watched her lick her lips, considering the question. “Leave them,” she finally said in a low voice. _Fair enough_. 

Now, he decided, it was time to get her warmed up again. He shifted closer, leaning over her and licking wetly across her nipple through the lace. Her breathing caught in a moan, and he glanced up to watch her eyes slipping closed, hands clutching tightly at the ropes. He’d always intended this to be a slow seduction, and he was glad to see her already half under his spell. He pulled the damp lace roughly aside, hungry to taste her skin, suckling hard on the excited little peak.

Allison kept her eyes shut, arching her back. Yes, this was better than being free. She didn’t have to worry about what to do with her hands, she could just lay here and _feel_ , let Greg take all responsibility away. He accorded her farther nipple the same treatment, plus a teasing brush of stubble against her hot skin, and then he shifted lower.Kissing down along her belly, gradually working his way back between her thighs, and she tried not to tense too much.

She felt the wet pass of his tongue along her inner thigh, and then long fingers sliding inside her, working carefully at the sensitive patch of nerves on the top inner wall. _Oh God._ She rocked her hips, pushing down and against his hand, not surprised as his stubble scraped lightly against her clit, followed by a quick swipe of his tongue. “Greg,” she couldn’t help moaning.

She may have been nervous, but she was also appetizingly soaking wet. House sat up, pulling one of the gloves onto his right hand, watching her as the action created the characteristic snapping sound. Her eyes were still closed, but he didn’t miss the way her breathing sped up. 

He squeezed some lube onto the index finger of his gloved hand, spreading it liberally. “Don’t worry, little girl,” he said in a low purring voice. “You’re in good hands. No pun intended.” He waited until he saw the smirk forming on her face, before sliding back into position.

She couldn’t help but jump a little when he touched her, but again, it was just his mouth against her, tongue working its familiar way between her folds again. 

He stayed at it for long enough that she had almost forgotten what he was about to do to her, when she felt slick coolness against that other entrance to her body. She stiffened a little, but he wasn’t trying to get inside her yet. Just circling the slick tip of his finger around the tight ring of muscle, caressing it. 

And it was true, it _did_ feel good. Even as she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks from her embarrassed flush, at being exposed to him so completely like this, she had to admit…yes, it was good.

She felt pressure then, gentle but insistent. 

“Just try to relax. Let me inside you,” came the quiet command. 

House did his best to make this as slow and nonthreatening as possible, only easing forward when her resistance lessened. And he kept adding to the sensations by stimulating her more conventionally, playing his tongue along her folds, kissing the soft insides of her thighs. 

It was slow, but he wasn’t in a rush. His finger was halfway inside her already, and he was enjoying it too much to hurry. She was even hotter and tighter than he’d expected. And the view was just as erotic – more so – than he’d pictured in his head. Alli was squirming a little against the bed, head thrown back and her breasts jewelled with tiny beads of sweat. 

“I wish you could see yourself,” he told her sincerely. “You have no idea how amazing, how beautiful this is, watching you take me in like this.” 

Allison believed him, and it made the curling heat inside her belly spike even higher. She could feel every inch of him, of his finger inside her, could practically feel her heartbeat pulsing around his finger, tingling counterpoint arising from where his gloved thumb was still idly caressing the outside ring of her puckered entrance. 

He was still easing into her, pushing in deeper, and she shuddered. But he wasn’t done invading her, apparently, because a moment later he was sliding two fingers deeply and gently into her _other_ entrance. Before she could even process that, however, his mouth returned to her clit, sucking hard, and she gasped. Drowning in sensation, she arched up against him. 

_Oh God,_ she’d never felt anything like this before. Still clothed in lingerie, but also naked and exposed, impaled on him simultaneously in both places. He nipped gently at her, teasing her nub, and she could feel her muscles clenching at him, front and back.

House fought off his own need, concentrating on her as he worked her throbbing button and started to move both his hands, carefully gliding in and out of her. Alternating, to see which combination was most effective. Did she make louder noises, her inner muscles grasping at him harder, when he moved one set of fingers out while pressing the other deeper inwards? Or did she shake and gasp more when he slid both sets out at the same time, and then slid them both in again, centimeter by centimeter? It was just the kind of medical examination he liked best to perform.

When she climaxed, it was _powerful_. It felt like every muscle in her body was pulsing, writhing. The sensation like a supernova that was exploding first in the lower half of her body, and then spreading everywhere, sweeping away all other awareness.

She barely noticed Greg easing himself out of her. She only realized he had totally removed himself from her body when the bed readjusted for the sudden loss of his weight. She kept her eyes closed still, panting and feeling sweat trickle down her sides and from her hairline.

House disposed of the latex glove in the trash, then got a fresh washcloth and soaped it up very well. He thoroughly soaked another washcloth with water, and then made his way back to the bed to clean her up. 

His balls were really starting to ache by the time he’d finished, an ache that was giving even his bad thigh a run for its money, so he rolled both washcloths up in one of the used bathtowels and dropped them into the empty hot tub for the moment - besides, what else was maid service for? - then fished in the nighttable for one of the condoms he’d put there earlier. 

When Allison felt his hands on her again, insistently turning her over onto her belly, she almost didn’t have the energy to protest. Almost. “You’d better not be thinking of-“

“No,” House said with a chuckle, easing her up onto her knees. “However, I never said I was _done_ with you. Considering I think I gave you quite the orgasm a few moments ago, I think I’m entitled to one more ‘ride’ tonight.” He unrolled the condom onto himself, then knelt carefully on the bed and slid himself into her, at the usual location. 

_One day, Little Greg might go spelunking in the deepest darkest depths of Allison Cameron,_ he thought to himself, amused at his own choice of inner words, _but not just yet_. Besides, he’d come here tonight planning just this sort of preliminary ‘introduction’. Get her hooked on how good it felt, and then make her _wait_. Eventually, her own curiosity would fuel the fire, and she’d be the one coming to him and asking him for more ‘backdoor’ action. And then he could play out all sorts of naughtiness with her. _I’m_ so _evil._

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to _complain_ about getting the ‘usual’ tonight. She was just as delectable as always, wet and tight and yielding to his thrusts.

Despite the urge to just collapse, Allison was loving this. This was her favourite position of all. Bound and helpless, with Greg thrusting forcefully inside her, his hands all over her like he was trying to make love to every inch of her. She didn’t think she could climax again, but that was fine. It was enough just to enjoy the feel of him inside her, the slip and slide of his hands over her sweaty skin, the texture of the lingerie, the feel of the rope rubbing against her palms where she was still gripping it.

In House’s mind, recent events were replaying themselves in an infinite loop. The tight, hot feel of her, of both sets of muscles quivering and pulsing around his fingers. The excellent blow job technique she’d displayed earlier tonight. Remembering how it had felt, what it had looked like, when she’d wrapped her breasts around him. All those thoughts helped him get to the edge in no time. And it made him even harder, the realization that only _he_ got to see these sides of her. It was all for him. Not for any idiotic doctors with TB from Africa. It drove him to grasp her hips almost hard enough to leave bruises, as he finally pumped himself dry, vision going blurry and his heart pounding rapidly in his chest.

He managed, somehow, to pull out of her before collapsing. He flopped onto the pillows next to her, totally spent. Eyes closed, his nimble fingers still found the buckles of the cuffs and worked them free, so he could then draw Alli’s body against him, cradle her against his chest.

When he was finally sure that he wasn’t going to have a cardiac event, he opened his eyes and looked at her. She looked sweaty and happy and almost seemed to be glowing, and he supposed he had his answer, but since he was obsessive he had to ask: “Did you like that, Alli?”

Allison smiled sleepily and put her arms around him, kissing him deeply on the mouth. She could smell and taste herself on him. _Guess we’ll be needing another bath_. “God, yes. That was…very interesting. Maybe I should let you get jealous more often.” But she smiled and winked at him, to show she was only joking.

“Dr. Charles wouldn’t know a ‘back-door’ from a ‘front-door’. Even if the former had an ‘Exit Only’ sign on it,” he proclaimed, blue eyes glinting mischieviously at her. “Still, I’m _very_ glad you enjoyed yourself. Does that mean you’ll let me try some ‘back door play’ with you again in the near future?”

“Yes. As long as the ‘near future’ isn’t within the next few hours, however,” she answered, yawning. “You wore me out, and Dr. Cameron needs to sleep.”

“Hey, I thought I had the market cornered on being easily worn out and fatigued. Go get your own excuse,” he shot back, then stuck out his tongue at her. 

She kissed his protruding tongue, enjoying the startled expression on his face, and just settled herself more comfortably into his arms, not caring that her lingerie was in disarray and that they were still lying on the rumpled, damp quilt and that the lights weren’t even turned off. 

Right now, she was going to hold on to this feeling and have a little nap. When she got her energy levels back up to something approaching normal, she’d give her boyfriend an enthusiastic ‘confirmation’ of how much she’d enjoyed the evening. 

Just to cement the fact that she wasn’t interested in anyone else but him. 

 


End file.
